BlueEyed Fates
by NotAllWhoWanderRLost
Summary: What if Frodo never recovered from Weathertop? What if he never took the ring? If he never escaped the Dark Tower? If he claimed the ring? 9 alternate Fates are visiting Sam, to show him what could have been or what may be. I FINALLY UPDATED!
1. Default Chapter

A/N Hey everybody! I have no idea where this story came from, but here it is. I hope ya like it! Please review, cause I'm new at this sort of thing.  
  
Disclaimer: Do you REALLY have to rub it in?? ;-;  
  
Frodo was exhausted, Sam could see that. His plunge into the Dead Marshes earlier that day had left him cold and shivery, and now he was clumsily trying to lay out his bed role, his half frozen fingers slipping over the fastening. Sam reached over, already done roling out his own bed, and laid Frodo's down for him, making sure there were no sharp rocks underneath. Frodo gave him a dazed look of gratitude before collapsing onto the blankets, his eyes closed before his head hit the ground. Sam watched his master until his breathing evened out, and he was sure he was asleep. Satisfied, Sam rolled over onto his side, nestling into the blankets. His eyes fluttered close.  
  
He was floating, floating up yet down at the same time. Sam blinked his sleepy eyes open. A thick midst blanketed the air around him. Where was he? Suddenly, Sam was wide-awake, glancing around him with wide eyes. Where was Frodo? Where was /he!?!/  
  
A voice suddenly oozed out of the surrounding fog.  
  
"Welcome to Destiny, Samwise Gamgee of the Shire."  
  
Suddenly, all too suddenly for poor, nervous Sam, a tall, ethereal figure emerged from the spiraling embrace of. destiny?. and glided to stand before him. Sam shuddered, a tingle of confused fear tickling his spine. He tried to inquire as to who, no, what this being was, but all that escaped his throat was a soft whimper.  
  
She (or so Sam guessed, as there was really no sure way to tell) had no features whatsoever. In place of the details and individual traits that make a body belong to one soul specifically, this creature was composed of a complete blackness, putting the supposed emptiness of a wraith's hood to shame. And yet horribly, within the complete nothingness, absolutely everything there ever was, is, or would be seemed to float in and out of perception, waiting just beyond a mortal's reach.  
  
Somehow, Sam could sense that the apparition was smiling.  
  
"I am destiny's muse," she explained, or at least she intending this to be an explanation. The meaning this brought to Sam's senses was decidedly limited. A good half of the frightened hobbit's brain was still devoted to feverishly pondering the identity of this fearfully wonderful reality, which seemed to teeter on the line between things real and the nonexistent.  
  
"This place is destiny," the, the muse?. repeated, sending another round of shivers up and down Sam's back. "It is a place of spirits and ghosts, may- be's and could-have-been's, memories lost and futures to be found." Sam again got that unnerving feeling that the being was smiling. "Things that are, things that were, and some things, that are yet to come to pass." Sam shuddered violently.  
  
The muse gracefully raised her right hand to hover above her head. Sam noticed with no small amount of surprise (or fear) that two bright, slightly over-large eyes were glowing into existence in the muse's face. Despite theirs always being the same set of eyes, Sam observed nervously that they always appeared to be changing. somehow.  
  
Sam felt his heart skip a beat, and all the blood drained from his face. He could recognize those huge, sapphire eyes anywhere.  
  
They were Mr. Frodo's.  
  
"Nine fates, all bearing the likeness of the ringbearer's doom." Sam felt his breathe hitch in his throat. ".will be shown to you. Valar wishes you to see." And with that, the muse with Mr. Frodo's eyes faded into the swirling mists of destiny.  
  
Sam glanced around nervously, suddenly wishing the Muse hadn't gone. He appeared to be floating in a complete blackness, yet he felt something solid under his feet. Sam began to quiver in anticipation. Nine fates? What were fates?  
  
Without warning, colors burst into existence, spiraling dizzyingly, the black still just visible beyond them. Sam cried out in surprise, watching with eyes as big as saucers as the threads of color began organizing themselves and quickly weaving something like a web around him. Sam closed his eyes; the color threads' wild dance made him feel sick.  
  
Finally, all felt marginally still, and Sam peeped open an eye. Next second, his eyes flew open as wide as they could go, as the confused hobbit stared around him, his mouth slowly turning up in a smile.  
  
The /Shire!/  
  
Yes, it was! Sam sprung to his feet, feeling the happiest he had in a long time. There was Bag End, as warm and welcoming as ever, and here he was in the garden, like he had been so many other times. Sam grinned. This was the way things were supposed to be.  
  
Or was it? Sam frowned and narrowed his eyes, as his initial joy muted enough to allow him to properly survey the setting.  
  
Sam's face fell. It wasn't the real Shire. He frowned at the grass below him. In spots, there was no grass at all, and a black nothingness took the place of green. Sam looked closer, and was just able to discern the strings of color, woven together, to create a false reality around him.  
  
The disappointment was terrible. Sam felt as though his heart had been deflated.  
  
It was then that he heard a door opening, and footsteps on the porch. Someone was coming! Sam hesitated, unsure of what creatures would live in a fake Shire.  
  
"Good morning, Sam!" a familiar voice called cheerfully, and Frodo Baggin's curly head appeared around the corner of the house.  
  
"Mr. Frodo!" cried Sam in relief, his heart inflating slightly. "Thank the Valar yer 'ere!" He wasn't all alone in this strange place. Frodo was here. He would know how to get back. Sam never thought he'd say it, but he would much rather be in the Dead Marshes than in a place that pretended to be his home.  
  
"Whatever's the matter, Sam?" Frodo asked, his smile fading as he began to hurry across the dewy grass towards his friend. Couldn't he tell?  
  
"Well, it's just that." Sam began, not quite sure how to explain the obvious to the apparently happily oblivious hobbit hurrying up to him. It was as Frodo came up to stand next to him, that Sam gasped.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, you're." Sam stared at him, mouth hanging open, lost for words. Frodo's brows knit together in concern as he stared back into Sam's unbelieving chocolate eyes.  
  
Frodo's hair was clean and fluffy, flopping down into his crystalline clear blue eyes. His face was pale, the way it had always been, but not unhealthily so, and there were no smudges of dirt or blood smearing his skin or laundered clothes. Frodo was shaking his head slightly in confusion, but the smile still hadn't completely left his face. Sam's eyes fell slowly to land on Frodo's neck. No chain, or ring for that matter, in sight.  
  
This was most assuredly NOT the Frodo Sam had been traveling with in the Dead Marshes.  
  
"Who are you?" Sam whispered, again raising his eyes to be at a level with the unbelievably sparkling and innocent eyes of the other.  
  
Frodo frowned now, and raised his hand to feel Sam's forehead. "Sam, are you feeling alright? It's me, it's Frodo. Who else would it be?"  
  
Frodo drew his hand back suddenly, his eyes going wide as he truly beheld Sam's current condition. Sam remembered then the gash he'd received on his forehead that day, when he'd tripped over a half-submerged rock. He could only imagine the filthy state he must be in. He wouldn't be surprised if he'd lost a few pounds, too.  
  
"Sam, what happened?" Frodo exclaimed, his eyes twin pools of concern. "You shouldn't be out here working in such a state! Come on, let's get you inside and out of this sun. I'll mix up some nice tea." Frodo continued babbling about getting some food in him, and began leading a Sam too shocked and confused to protest by the hand towards the door of Bag End.  
  
"Why didn't you say something?" Frodo was asking as the two reached the path leading to the front door. Sam was trying to get his thoughts organized enough to reply, when he noticed with a jolt of fear that the threads of color this universe was composed of were beginning to unravel. Sam was being pulled backward, away from the open and welcoming door to Bag End and the Frodo of the Shire that would never be again.  
  
Sam's hand was wrenched from Frodo's as he was yanked backward. Frodo spun around, his eyes perfectly round as he surveyed the dancing colors. Sam fought desperately and reached out his fingers for the Shire Frodo, who had been so cruelly ripped away from him once, without his ever truly realizing it.  
  
Frodo squeaked softly and began to run towards Sam, intent on freeing him from the relentless force pulling him back. Behind him, the door to Bag End was expanding and growing deeper, until it was a gaping hole.  
  
"Frodo, look out!!" Sam screamed, his eyes fixed on the trench behind his friend. Shire Frodo's clear blue eyes widened in confusion and fear as he was sucked backwards into the black cavern, and for the last time Sam heard poor Frodo's innocent voice.  
  
"Sam.!?"  
  
It tinkled like rain on glass, the way only the Frodo Sam remembered's voice could, unmarred by all this madness, untouched by the life that had gone so horribly wrong so fast. Frodo of the Shire gave Sam one final, angelic, wide-eyed stare, before he spiraled helplessly into the chasm of things lost, and never to be found again.  
  
"No," Sam whispered, mouth agape, brown eyes shocked and shot through with pain. He looked dazedly down at his hand, which now grasped nothing but air, laden with memory, where Shire Frodo's hand had been but moments before. The force that had held Sam back drifted away softly, and the bright colors of the Shire faded away as new strands of color began to weave themselves together. The color strings feverishly tried to create an imitation reality between the strange mortal in their midst and the angry grips of destiny that floated around him in a sea of black.  
  
Sam barely had time to breathe before another figure materialized from the swirling destinies around him. Clinging to a hope as strong as the suddenly dark, ominous strands of reality knitting themselves around him, Sam rushed forward, praying he hadn't lost his old Frodo a second time.  
  
"Mr. Frodo?"  
  
The approaching figure came into focus. Sam barely suppressed a scream.  
  
"Frodo!?!"  
  
The horrible fate opened it's mouth wide, dripping black blood, and shrieked a cry into the air that would rattle one's bones until they shattered into a dust so fine the wind would carry it away and bury the grains in the deepest crevices of the earth. Sam's voice rasped in agony as he clutched his ears and dropped to his knees.  
  
Only one creature could utter a scream so terrible.  
  
As the tenth Nazgul threw back its head and screeched a howl of pure fury at its doom into the cracking air around it, Sam stared in unmuted horror at the most terrible of the ringwraiths. For this one, the smallest of the ten, was proof of what the dead kings were capable of; an innocent life destroyed beyond even the comfort of death. This one hadn't doomed itself to its fate by greed and corruption, the hobbit this creature of malice had once been had fought for all he was worth against the dark.  
  
But he had not won. Worst of all, he had known what was coming. He had known what he once was was dying, and that the hollow husk of himself left over would condemn all he had loved to a life of darkness. For he had the fate of Middle Earth chained around his neck.  
  
Frodo had been dragged, kicking and screaming and sobbing for his Sam to come save him, into the shadow world.  
  
And the tiny glimmer of Frodo that was left knew what he had done. His guilt was a torture worse than any of the other terrifying ordeals the nine had laid upon him, trying to snuff out that last glimmer.  
  
All that he wanted was death. But escape would be denied him for all eternity. There WAS no end to hope for. There was no hope at all.  
  
Wraith Frodo wailed again, clawing in pain at the rotting, wasted limb that was his left arm. Black veins spread from the horrible wound at his shoulder to ensnare his entire dead corpse. The gorge in his arm dripped black blood and decomposed flesh. The littlest Nazgul snarled at the cringing figure shuddering on the ground before him, his black robes billowing and his empty hood turned towards the agonized Sam.  
  
Sam knew, somehow, that no matter how long he lived, he would never, never forget what he was seeing now. This spectacle would haunt his sleep for the rest of his life, and here he was, actually experiencing it all for real. He stared into the emptiness where dear Mr. Frodo's face should have been, and felt something inside him die. Sam was never sure exactly what it was, but it dripped out his eyes in a steady flow of tears and was gone from his soul forever.  
  
Sam whimpered softly. "Mr. Frodo, where have you gone?"  
  
Wraith Frodo felt his dead heart contract. Buried deep under the layers of evil and the effects of unimaginable abuse, the minuscule gleam that was Frodo collapsed to his knees and sobbed his dead blood out.  
  
"Oh Sam, Sam, Sam, sam sam sam sam sam sam sam."  
  
Sam gasped, dragging in his breath in a low rasp that tore his throat. For a split second, and no longer, the flapping black robes faded, and in the emptiness of the quivering hood Sam could just make out the sickening remains of poor Frodo's face.  
  
His decomposed skin was stretched so tightly over his skull, Sam could hardly tell there was flesh covering the bone at all. In places, the skin had ripped and skull was exposed. He was white as a sheet, except the slightest tinge of purple. What remained of his hair was long and filthy, coated in blood and sweat, yet was still dreadfully curly, an agonizing reminder that this tormented creature had once been a hobbit. Rotting, pointed ears peaked out of filthy locks. Black blood oozed from his mouth and dripped from the many lashes and half-open wounds coating his being.  
  
But, worst of all for Sam, were the eyes. They were originally flat, lifeless, black and silver disks, but after half a millisecond they suddenly glowed blue, and Frodo's huge, traumatized, and hysterically desperate forget-me-not blue eyes were staring out at him from sunken, lacerated sockets, begging Sam to bring him back, to save him, to comfort him, anything, anything.  
  
Before Sam could do a thing, however, Wraith Frodo screeched again and whirled around, his black robes billowing wildly, any trace of the old, abused Frodo smothered underneath swallowed by the emptiness. The littlest Nazgul ripped away through the night, howling his wraith scream all the while, undoubtedly called by the Witch King back to Minas Morgul when the Nine realized that the tenth was defying them again. Yet underneath the cruel, furious and vicious crow of the ringwraiths, Sam could just detect a pitch of the scream that was his Frodo's voice; high and pleading and scared. It was a shriek of guilt heavier than any ring could ever be, and terror at what awaited him back in the City of the Dead when the Witch King got his taloned hands on him again.  
  
The long dead king would try for the umpteenth time to squash the faint shimmer that was all the remained of Frodo Baggins from the bleeding husk that was the tenth Nazgul.  
  
The newly deceased part of Sam's soul was squeezed mercilessly. The last drops of the something inside him that had died at the sight of the Wraith Fate poured from his eyes like the pus from Frodo's shoulder.  
  
Sam's stomach did a sickening somersault. He dropped onto all fours and heaved violently onto the marble floor, his tears splattering and pooling into the spaces between the tiles.  
  
"Why!?!?" He screamed into the purple sky and ornate balconies stretched above his head. "Why 'ave you gone and shown me this, this." Another wave of sobs overcame him, and he buried his face in his bleeding hands, bruised from beating the tiles beneath him.  
  
Wait. the tiles?  
  
Sam slowly raised his tear-streaked face and looked around him apprehensively. The woven imitation reality surrounding him appeared to harbor many beautiful, decorative buildings and a magnificent waterfall pouring in the center of the structures, sparkling purple in reflection of the gorgeous sunset overhead.  
  
He knew this place. He'd been here before.  
  
"Rivendell," Sam breathed in immense relief. For the first time since this fearful dream had ensnared him, Sam felt safe. Nothing could hurt him in the City of the Elves.  
  
He staggered, quivering, to his feet, using the railing on the edge of the balcony to pull himself up. Still dizzy from the unimaginable relief of finding himself in Rivendell, he shakily swayed his way along the overhang, occasionally needing to steady himself on the railing or a pillar. Not only was he overcome with the feeling of relative safety, it was just beginning to dawn on him that Mr. Frodo was not doomed to eternal torment as a wraith. No, that fate was only a could-have-been. Sam swayed and was forced to stop all together as a fresh wave of tears blinded him, only this time, they were tears of solace.  
  
/Only a could-have-been/  
  
It was as Sam was rounding a corner, grinning rather stupidly and breathing heavily in relief, that he got the shock of his life. He wasn't necessarily frightened; struck numb would describe his state better.  
  
He stared, open-mouthed and saucer-eyed, at the blonde, chocolate eyed, slightly plump hobbit before him.  
  
Sam was face-to-face with /himself/.  
  
And standing next to his other self, was Mr. Frodo! His old, bright-eyed, wonderfully alive Mr. Frodo! No bleeding torture scars, no wraith robes, no black and silver eyes, no rotting left arm.  
  
But Sam realized with a slight start that Frodo's arm was indeed scarred and bandaged, certainly not oozing black pus or dropping purple flesh, but strung up in a sling and very pale and weak looking.  
  
It was then that Sam understood. This was not a could-have-been. This was a memory.  
  
Memory Frodo and Sam took no notice of the supposed clone of the latter, but carried on their conversation just as normally as had nothing more unusual than a gust of wind blown through their midst. Sam edged closer, trying to hear what he and Frodo were saying. This had to be one of the oddest sensations of his life.  
  
"Packed already?" Frodo was saying, his voice echoing strangely. He smiled slightly at Sam's stuffed backpack.  
  
Memory Sam looked a little embarrassed. "No 'arm in bein' prepared..."  
  
"I thought you wanted to see the Elves, Sam?"  
  
"I do!"  
  
The Sam watching himself shift nervously smiled slightly. He remembered this.  
  
"More than anything?" Frodo prodded gently.  
  
"I did. It's just... We did what Gandalf wanted us to do... We got the Ring this far to Rivendell, and I thought, seein' as 'ow you're on the mend, we'd be off soon, off 'ome."  
  
Frodo's eyes clouded briefly with memories. "You're right Sam, we did what we set out to do. The Ring will be safe in Rivendell. I am ready to go home."  
  
The real Sam felt tears prick his eyes for what had to be the umpteenth time as the full meaning of those words hit him. They hadn't meant much at the time; he was just as eager to get home as Frodo was, but now. now that they had gone so much farther, and still had so far to go. Sam sobbed softly.  
  
And they had wanted to go home /then/.  
  
Yet, even in that comparatively short trip to Rivendel, they had all changed, lost a bit of who they used to be and gained something else, something less hobbity, in its place. Especially Frodo.  
  
"If that journey be enough to change someone," Sam thought, "I wonder if anyone'll recognize us when, when we get back 'ome."  
  
Home.  
  
It was as Sam's vision was blurred by tears reflecting the bitter-sweet memories of the Shire back into his soul, that he blinked, and noticed that Memory Sam and Frodo were gone. He glanced around him, wondering where they had gone, and to his complete astonishment found that his surroundings had changed. He was, for the second time in his life, at the Council of Elrond. And, for the second time, he wasn't entirely supposed to be there.  
  
Sam was still blinking, somewhat bemused at this reality's ability to change so rapidly, when Gandalf spoke aloud, and out of habit Sam looked up to listen.  
  
"Aragorn is right. We cannot use it." Sam felt a sob fighting to free itself from his throat. /No,/ he reminded himself. /Gandalf fell./  
  
"You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed." Lord Elrond announced.  
  
Gimli growled. "Then what are we waiting for...!"  
  
Sam watched, in building anticipation, for this time he knew what was coming, as Gimli hefted up his ax and swung angrily at the ring. Just like before, there was a blinding flash of power-laden light, and the ax was shattered into a handful of miniature daggers, and the astonished dwarf was flung backwards onto the ground.  
  
What Sam hadn't noticed the first time he bore witness to this moment, was how, just as Gimli struck the ring, Mr. Frodo jerked violently and slumped slightly in pain as though he had just been struck with the ineffective ax, too. The stunned hobbit blinked slowly a few times, as though he'd been concussed.  
  
Elrond was saying something. "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."  
  
Sam's heartbeat quickened. Now he knew who was chosen as ringbearer. He glanced at the bushes surrounding the terrace, knowing his memory-self was concealed in their sheltering leaves. He remembered how curious he'd been as to which of these strangers would take his master's burden. Well, now he knew.  
  
"One does not simply walk into Mordor," Boromir was saying. "It's black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the Great Eye." Sam screwed his eyes shut and forced himself to block his friend's voice from his head. His eyes seemed much less inclined to provide him with sight this night, but with a never-ending stream of tears. Would this pain ever end? The Boromir he had know was gone, and he already /knew/ what he and Frodo were up against. He didn't need reminding!  
  
Sam had never known memories could hurt so much.  
  
"Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"  
  
The corrupted man's words drilled themselves into Sam's head like a burning brand, despite his best efforts not to hear them. /It is folly, folly, folly, folly./  
  
/Not with ten thousand men could you do this!/ What chance did two halflings have? The blackening sky above Sam's head seemed to explode into a thousand spiraling hopes shot down from their seats in the heavens.  
  
Sam put a hand to his head as he swayed violently. He would most likely never see any of these friends seated around him again. All they were was a memory.  
  
"And what if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?" Boromir was demanding angrily now. Sam clutched his ears, as though the words had physically harmed him, but it was entirely emotional pain. /Yes, what WILL 'appen when we fail?/  
  
It was a moment before Sam could bring himself to listen again.  
  
Gimli was on his feet, growling at Legolas. "Never trust an elf!"  
  
Just like before, everyone leaped up at once and began arguing heatedly. Sam braced himself, as though for a physical blow, as his gaze fell on Mr. Frodo, waiting for him to seal their death sentence.  
  
He waited, jaws clenched, tears flowing.  
  
And waited some more.  
  
No death sentence came. Frodo's head was teetering on his neck, a look on his face Sam had recently grown far to accustomed to. The dark haired hobbit's eyes were fixed hungrily on the ring, but judging by his fluttering lashes, he was trying his best to fight It's call.  
  
Memory Gandalf placed a hand on Frodo's shoulder, and Frodo turned to look at him with a start, his eyes still clouded over slightly.  
  
Sam was shivering fit to die. No, he didn't remember this, this was different, this wasn't right. He was terrified. What was happening?  
  
"Frodo," Gandalf sighed heavily, looking down at him. "You may go. The Council of Elrond has obviously decided to use this time to argue over old grudges instead of consider the fate of the One Ring, and us all." With that, the Wizard who would fall but days from then turned from the somewhat baffled hobbit and joined Lord Elrond in attempting to restore order to the bickering council.  
  
Frodo watched the arguing group a moment more, before he his eyes seemed to leap back to the ring of their own accord. Sam saw that light awaken in those blue depths, the light he had grown to fear. Frodo stared, wide-eyed, at the ring, one last time. Finally, he blinked and, shaking his head slightly as though to clear it, awkwardly hopped off his chair and slipped away. He paused for a moment in the arched doorway and looked back, directly at Sam.  
  
Sam held his breath, still shuddering from a fear he did not understand, as he stared back into Frodo's eyes.  
  
Again, they were a completely different pair of blue orbs from the other Fates Sam had seen so far. Yet they had all been the same.  
  
"We can go home now, Sam."  
  
Sam's own brown eyes widened in shock as the Fate smiled at him. The could- have-been turned around and happily walked away from the arguing company and the Ring that was really his to carry, as Galadriel had said. The Ring that would corrupt whoever else was chosen, any one of those arguing beings back there that Sam had grown to love. The Ring that would plunge Middle Earth into a never-ending darkness through the manipulation of its well- meaning bearer.  
  
Sam realized with a horrible, blood numbing shock, that every Fate and memory he had seen so far in this destiny was doomed to die.  
  
And /would/ die, for real, if he and Frodo failed.  
  
The Fate's words echoed through his head, ricocheting off the walls of his skull until it sounded as though a thousand Frodo's were chanting it in his ears.  
  
/We can go home now, Sam. Home now, Sam. Home now. Home now. Home home home./  
  
It could have all ended at Rivendell. If that had been the case, EVERYTHING would have ended but months later. But still, they could have stayed in Rivendell, they could have gone home.  
  
They'd already had enough of ringwraiths and rings, enough of land beyond their Shire, enough of danger and nervousness and being so uncertain. Enough of being on an adventure, enough of so much depending on /them/, little hobbits of the Shire. Sam got a fleeting image of the cornfield, and his first step beyond the safety of things familiar.  
  
Everything was still green, birds still sang, the sun still rose in a blinding burst of hope at the start of each day.  
  
All they had to do was take the ring to Rivendell. Originally all they had to do was meet Gandalf in /Bree/!  
  
Sam's own words echoed through his head. "We're going to see the elves!" So optimistic.  
  
Yes, carrying a simple gold ring through the blooming green wilderness to the gorgeous City of the Elves was a lot different than bearing the One Ring to a Mountain of Fire in the very heart of Mordor, right under the Dark Lord Sauron's gaze.  
  
Snakes and adders, this had all started with just going to BREE!  
  
They were still hobbits then. They still cared more about mushrooms than being cautious on the roads. Cared more about second breakfast than making good time. Cared more about bacon and sausages and tomatoes than wraiths lurking in the dark.  
  
Cared more, or didn't know any better. They'd never had to worry about more than second helpings before.  
  
Had they ever been that innocent? Yes, they had.  
  
And they never would be again. They'd seen too much.  
  
The threads of time began to unravel, the colors swirled in a frantic dance, the Fates from the past and all the memories and could-have-beens that came with them plunged into the surrounding darkness, the midst came back, and the unconscious Sam floated slowly back to Middle Earth.  
  
****************** Sam awoke with a start, his eyes bursting open and his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.  
  
Frodo Baggins lay on his side across from him, breathing just as erratically, blinking equally wide yet sleepy eyes. His hand was balled into a white mass of knuckles at the base of his neck.  
  
They stared at each other for a second, each one willing his mind to believe the other was there. And then Sam realized, he was back. He sat bolt upright and enveloped a very sleepy and confused Frodo in a backbreaking hug.  
  
"Sam, wha--?"  
  
"Oh Valar, Mr. Frodo," Sam choked, rocking slowly, his tears dripping off his cheeks and into Frodo's hair. "I 'ad the most dreadful dream."  
  
Frodo smiled sadly into Sam's shirt. He knew what dreams could be like. Suddenly reminded, Frodo relinquished his hold on the ring, wondering when in his own fire-ridden nightmare he had grabbed it. Raising his head, he saw the rivers of tears flowing down Sam's face, and he returned the embrace, shifting slightly so the distraught hobbit could sob into his shoulder.  
  
"It was just a dream, Sam, just a dream." Frodo whispered soothingly, rubbing his friend's back. "It's over now."  
  
But Sam knew it wasn't, and Destiny's Muse smiled, because she knew it wasn't over as well. There were still six Fates to go.  
  
*TBC*  
  
Well, that was weird. But please review and tell me what you think! Flames accepted, though constructive criticism is more appreciated (Don't I sound intelligent? :D)  
  
And if you have any ideas for fates, let me know and I'll probably include them! We have more creepy ones coming up next chapter. *cackles*  
  
Wil!Frodo!Muse: *looks at Silver, who nods* Um. please review!  
  
*tosses Frodo a shroom* Well, you heard the cute wil hobbit! ^_~ 


	2. Ashes

OH! SWEET! ELBERETH! Reviewsess! *does a creepy jig, vaguely resembling a corrupted bohemian dance* I can't tell you guys how excited your comments make me! You people are the best! ^_^ *throws chocolate covered shroomies to reviewers, while Frodo!Muse screams and thrashes behind bars*  
  
Individual thank-ya's at end of chappie!  
  
Now this chap's gonna be a lil shorter, cause SOMEONE *glares meaningfully at Frodo, who whistles* set a bug lose in my computer! Look! *holds up miniature orc* Can you believe that? The nerve! Well, all systems crashed, and I lost a ton of stuff, so as a peace offering for taking so long I thought I'd post this. Tell me if ya want the loong chapters again.  
  
*Cracks knuckles* Brace yourself Sam! *gollum, gollum*  
  
Chapter 2 ~ Ashes  
  
Frodo grimaced, gagging slightly on the lembas bread that was, for what seemed like the gillionth year running, his and Sam's sole dinner course. Sam was munching hungrily on his portion, ravenous after another long day's trek through the rough land that lay beyond the dead marshes. Frodo managed with no small effort to gulp his bite down, and screwed his eyes shut as he roled his tongue around inside his mouth, as though to rid it of a foul taste.  
  
Sam watched Frodo with a quizzical look on his face, while the dark-haired hobbit grimly investigated the piece of bread in his hand, turning it over several times with a now confused in addition to mildly disgusted look on his face.  
  
"What's wrong, Mr. Frodo?" Sam finally inquired, after swallowing a second large bite of his lembas. Frodo, still clutching his bread in his hand, looked up at Sam, an apprehensive gleam suddenly in his eyes.  
  
"Sam? Does, does your lembas taste strange tonight?" he asked, and it was clear which answer he wanted, and which one he dreaded.  
  
Sam furrowed his brow. "No," he said simply. "Tastes just as bland and not- tater-ish as ever." Frodo looked mildly horrified, as though a terrible thought had only just fully presented itself. He slowly put down his lembas and leaned back against the tree behind him, his eyes wide as the full moon rising through the trees behind him.  
  
His gaze flew to Gollum, who was revoltingly devouring several "crunchy birdsess" just outside the edge of the hobbits' pitiful camp. He swallowed and blinked quickly, averting his eyes from the disgusting site and fixing them instead on his white-knuckled hands.  
  
Sam worriedly shoved the remainder of his bread into his mouth and crawled over to Frodo's side. But before one question could leave his mouth, Frodo pulled himself to his feet, staggered to his bed role, and flopped onto the ground.  
  
"Night," he muttered simply.  
  
Sam hesitantly curled up on his own bed role beside his friend and closed his eyes. But he could tell by Frodo's quick breathing that he was not asleep.  
  
************************* "Welcome back, Samwise." The voice echoed. Oh no. . .  
  
Sam slowly raised his head, clearly wanting many things more than seeing what (whom?) he knew was there. Sure enough, Destiny's Muse smiled down at him, without smiling at all. Oh, Elbereth, no, not AGAIN!  
  
"No, plea-"  
  
The muse stared back at him with gigantic, lamp-like, fish eyes. And vanished. The last Sam saw of her were two eerie, light blue orbs glowing sinisterly through the black mist.  
  
Sam shuddered, and curled up as small as possible as the colored threads flew back again, wondering what horrors he would be forced to endure this time, and never wanting to find out. He wasn't sure if he could take it again.  
  
Drip, drip.  
  
Sam's teeth chattered.  
  
Drip, drip, drip.  
  
He raised his head from his knees.  
  
He was in a cave, and if a hole in rock could possibly be evil, this one was. He pressed himself against the slimy, cold stone behind him, desperate to put as much space between him and that dark as possible. He was forcefully reminded of the goblins from Moria, though he could not say why.  
  
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, the first thing he noticed, with a jolt to the stomach, were bones littering the wet, moldy floor. But before his heart could even properly leap into his throat and suffocate him, Sam realized that they were fish bones. Yes, there was a decided stench of rotting fish in this place.  
  
Sam gagged on the none-too familiar smell. This place reeked of Gollum.  
  
He shrieked as he raised his gaze and came face to face with the repulsive creature.  
  
Well, eye to eye was more like it. All he could make out of the emancipated being were the tell-tale, glowing blue lamps. He forced his breathing to slow and summoned his voice.  
  
"Hey, stinker. What're you doing here?"  
  
Funny. For a second Sam could have sworn something like hurt was reflected out of those eyes along with the eerie sapphire light.  
  
Someone may as well have driven Sting through Sam's chest, in the place of what happened next. The tormented animal whimpered softly, low in its throat, and crawled closer to Sam, cringing into a shaft of light as it did.  
  
Sam certainly felt like he was bleeding to death. His heart had surely been ripped out.  
  
This was Gollum's cave no longer.  
  
The rotting, slinking skin and bone remainder of Frodo Baggins cowered before him, like a cornered animal under the dull light shining on his twisted and emancipated form. He wasn't yet as wasted away as Gollum, but his hair was long and thinning, though still curly and dark. Ripped, ragged and filthy remains of Frodo's shirt and breeches hung limply from his shrunken body, at least four sizes too big for him. His fingers were long, and flat at the ends. Blood seeped sluggishly from many scratches and cuts running up and down the creature's arms, thickest around its wrists. One could easily tell they were self-inflicted.  
  
It shivered violently and stared up at its, no, HIS former friend, a forerunner to remembrance flickering behind the animal void of its huge, cat-like eyes.  
  
Sam realized that he wasn't breathing, and forced his body to suck in a rattling breath that echoed in the cave. Frodo cringed back, hesitant and frightened. Only then did Sam's heart quiet enough for Sam to realize Frodo was speaking. Though hissing would probably describe it better.  
  
"Who be that, preciousss, eh? We wantss to know, yess we do. We seess him before, we can'tsss remember." The former hobbit squeaked and twisted itself on the ground, as though in horrible pain and frustration, whimpering to itself in agony, the whispers becoming increasingly more high- pitched and cracked. "It hurtsss us preciouss! Picturesss in poor head, why can'tsss we remembersess?"  
  
Sam was still holding his breath from before. He forced himself to exhale.  
  
"Nasssty hobbit," the creature, for Sam could not bring himself to acknowledge it as his master, snarled, its stance suddenly more menacing, its pupils contracted. "Whatsss it doing here, preciousss? It wantsss to rob us, yess, yess it doess! But we mustn't. . . let. . . him. . . have it."  
  
Before Sam could even remind himself to breath again, it pounced, bearing sharp, pointed teeth. But no sooner had it slammed Sam into the wall, but it released him, careening backwards, swaying violently.  
  
"No, no!" it squeaked. "No, we musn't! We knowss, we knowss him. Poor hobbit don't wantss to hurt him!"  
  
"Filthy hobbitsess! We should drownss him and squeeze out his insidess!"  
  
"No, no, nice hobbit no wantsss to do that!" the whimpering voice cracked, tears evident behind the blue orbs. "He is. . . he is. . ." Frodo was clearly grasping at straws. ". . . our brother! He is my brother! Leave us alone. . . don't makess poor hobbit. . ."  
  
The shell of Frodo toppled over again, screaming in pain and writhing on the ground, ripping at his arms in agony, desperate to feel a pain that was his own doing and not his other half's. Though when Frodo's breath ran short between shrieks, Sam could just hear the demon sharing his body laugh horribly, coughing occasionally.  
  
"Aw-law, aw-law aw-law!"  
  
"Go away! Go away, Ala! Leave uss alone! AAAAAAAHHhhhhhssss" Frodo's huge blue eyes glowed even brighter, their light enhanced by his tears. Sam could see the awareness slowly fading from the Frodo-half's eyes. He was drifting away to another place, another time, another life. . .  
  
"Orcsess, orcsess, they takess it. They takess everything! Everything! They iss coming back. They hass nasty burning whip! Whip! No, not again, poor hobbit don't knowss where nasssty ring-elf be!" the screaming reached a crescendo. "SAAM!"  
  
The force holding Sam in a paralyzed trance was broken.  
  
"Frodo!"  
  
The former ringbearer lay sprawled on the damp floor, gasping desperately and creepily still compared to how he had thrashed before. Slowly, tremulously, he forced himself upward on his weak, bloody arms, and stared at Sam with eyes so wide and hurt Sam almost would have preferred Gollum's fish stare. Almost.  
  
"Wh- what?" Frodo's voice shook so bad Sam could hardly understand him.  
  
"Frodo," Sam repeated, noticing in an abstract way that his voice was shaking almost as terribly. "Oh, Frodo, 'ave you forgotten everything?" Judging by the ex-hobbit's nearly blank stare, Sam reckoned so. "Frodoo," he cooed softly. "That was yer name."  
  
Frodo still trembled, staring into Sam's chocolate eyes at though he was searching for something. "Sa-sam-hobbit?"  
  
Sam felt a smile pulling at his lips. Ironic under the circumstances, in his opinion. He nodded.  
  
Frodo stared at him in shocked silence, his eyes taking up most of his scarred face. Sam wondered in a detached state where all those scars had come from. Frodo's stare dropped to fix on Sam's feet, and sluggishly shifted to stare at his own, taking in their size and the curly hair still clinging to them.  
  
"Frodo," he whispered. "Frodo Sam hobbits." If possible, his pupils contracted even more with a sudden fear. "Ring-hobbits." He stared up at Sam as if for confirmation of this. After a brief hesitation, Sam nodded again.  
  
Frodo swayed. "I remember," he croaked, before collapsing in racking sobs. Sam hovered, not exactly sure what to do, and probably too apprehensive to do anything anyway.  
  
Frodo solved his indecision for him. Slowly, as though fearing a whip would lash out at him at any minute, Frodo crawled forward, and all at once flung his thin, slimy arms around Sam's shoulders and cried into his shoulder, like he had so many other times so many years ago.  
  
Sam jumped, his first impulse when a Gollum-like creature sprang at him being to throttle its throat.  
  
Before he could stop himself, Sam pushed the repulsive half-corrupted creature away. Frodo lost his balance and half fell into the murky water. When Frodo looked up, Sam could have very easily throttled himself, had he not forgotten to breathe again, never mind move.  
  
Fat tears dripped down Frodo's face. They looked somewhat out of place on such a Gollum-ish likeness.  
  
"Frodo, Frodo forgetsess. Sam-hobbit no likess Stinker. Slinker can't come back. There's nothing no one can do for himsess. . ." He sobbed brokenly. Suddenly, his pupils contracted, and a malicious grin contorted his face.  
  
"Why does he cry, Frodo?"  
  
Frodo looked horrified. "Go away," he whimpered. "Leave me alone, let me come back." Frodo threw back his head and screamed to the ceiling. "I WANT OUT!!"  
  
Sam was struck numb. The meaning of Frodo's words a few days ago. . . or was it a million years? suddenly hit him.  
  
"I have to believe he can come back."  
  
"There's nothing you can do for him, Mr. Frodo."  
  
Had, had Goll-, no, had Smeagol been like his Mr. Frodo once? Had Smeagol had a friend? Did Smeagol know what was happening to him?  
  
Suddenly, Frodo's anger that day made way too much sense. Sam remembered his friend's red, puffy eyes later after their argument. And Sam understood.  
  
Frodo knew he could easily end up like Gollum. Frodo knew Sam hated Gollum. Frodo knew, but refused to believe, that his Sam, his /brother/, would hate what he could become.  
  
Every insult Sam had ever thrown at Gollum had been reflected neatly off the creature's lamp-like orbs, and stabbed like fragments of glass into his master's heart.  
  
Frodo watched, day after day, as the ring slowly ate him away. Watched Smeagol send him knowing, sympathetic looks. Watched Gollum leer at him viciously. Watched Sam look after who he was. Watched Sam scorn what he would become.  
  
And the whole time, a great fiery eye watched his torment, waiting for him to fall. Burning away his life and soul until all that remained in his world was a wasted black ash of things once green. Even the food he ate turned to dust in his mouth. . .  
  
When Sam could finally see again, the May-Be was gone, though he could hear its tearful bawling echoing off the walls of its cave. Sam flew, staggering, to his feet, and screamed into the slowly unraveling darkness.  
  
"Frodo! I'm sorry!"  
  
The crying quieted. A pale face appeared in the darkness, peering around a corner.  
  
Sam swayed and fainted, the tortured look in Frodo's eyes too much to bear.  
  
************************ Sam awoke with a wild gasp, jerking violently, his chocolate eyes frantically darting around him.  
  
"Ashes. . ."  
  
Sam had to bite his tongue to choke back his startled shriek at finding Frodo's head lying next to his. Sam put a hand to his heart and breathed several deep, shuddering breathes before his eyes agreed to focus again.  
  
Frodo was breathing hard, his eyes screwed shut and his face pale, sweat on his brow. "Burning," he mumbled weakly, before he tossed fitfully onto his side. His fingers reached out in front of him, grasping at the air as though searching for something. "Fire. . . why's'it so cold?"  
  
Sam choked on a sob, and ceased both Frodo's cold hands in his own shaking ones, squeezing them warmly and whispering, "Frodo, I'm so sorry. I won't let that happen to you. I promise."  
  
Frodo, even in his own nightmare, seemed to sense Sam was there. He edged closer, and Sam wrapped his arms around his friend protectively, and rested his own tear-streaked chin on Frodo's sweat-dampened curls. Sam would never let go, as long as Frodo was frightened, and he tightened his hold, wanting more than anything to make up for pushing him away.  
  
"Ashes, it tastes like ashes, I'm sorry Sam, so sorry, don't leave me here!" Frodo quivered, panting for breath. Sam cried.  
  
"No! Not alone!" Frodo gave a final weak yelp and was dashed back to wakefullness. He scrambled to his elbows, tangled in his blanket. Finally, he managed to free himself, and his frantic eyes fell on Sam's.  
  
Again they stared at each other, not sure what to believe and what not to. After a long moment, they both blinked at the exact same time, freeing the tears welled up in their eyes.  
  
Without a word, Frodo teetered and collapsed, his exhausted head falling on Sam's chest. Using the last of his strength, Frodo wrapped his arms around Sam's neck, and went completely limp. Sam simply let his tears fall and returned the hug, folding his hands on Frodo's back.  
  
"Don't leave," Frodo whimpered weakly. "I don't wanna be alone."  
  
Sam whispered. "I won't leave if you don't."  
  
Frodo nodded into Sam's shirt, and began to breath more slowly, drifting off to sleep. Sam followed him only seconds later.  
  
Destiny's Muse didn't torment either hobbit for the rest of the night.  
  
********************* So, whatcha think? PLEASE let me know. Like I said, I'm new to this serious writing, and need all the help I can get! Reviews are appreciated to an unhealthy level! *pets review* Preciousss *ahem* yes.  
  
THANK YOU REVIEWERS! Valar you mean the world to me!  
  
Evil Vampire Lady: my first reviewer! *sniff* You deserve shroomies! Frodo!Muse: NUUUUUUU! *tosses EVL a shroom anyways* don't worry, he'll make it. Thank you sooo much! I'm really glad you like it. As for the fate *shudder* creepy one. I just watched FotR today, for the gillionth time. If I don't use it here, mind if I write an AU? *puppy eyes* Hope you liked this chappie!  
  
Linriel: *gags* Slash, how I hate it. Can't we let these poor guys be friends without them sleeping with each other! *growls* If anyone says one ill word about my Sam. *ahem* Yes. I loved your idea about Frodo having nightmares too, you totally were the inspiration for the little end bit here. *tosses shroom* THANK YOU SOO MUCH! ^_^  
  
Earthangel10: Thanks! *shroom for you!* Hope you liked this chapter too!  
  
H. Warrenbeck: *pets review* my own, my. *frodo!muse leaps out of closet and wallops Silver with a frying pan* MEEP! Ouch! Sheesh, frying pans HURT! Omg, thank you SOO MUCH for the PRECIOUS review! *truckload of shrooms!* Wow, it was you that inspired me to get over the computer crash and start writing again! THX!! :D  
  
*shifts nervously* Heh heh, and yea, I am Nutmeg *ducks projectile sporks* MEEP! Ala's on vacation! In transylvania! Leave us alone!  
  
Frodo!Muse: ACK! ASHES!  
  
Ala: bwa ha ha.  
  
Nutmeg: um, maybe she's not in transylvania. . .  
  
NEXT CHAPTER: BARAD DUR, BRING IT ON! 


	3. Black

Meep. I scared myself writing this chapter. Not to mention it took me forever. . . *ducks projectile cookery*  
  
This fate's gonna have two chapters to it, so I'll respond to reviews at the end of the second one.  
  
THANK YOU SOO MUCH FOR THE WONDERFUL REVIEWSIES! *pets reviews happily* So pretty... *ducks frodo!muse's frying pan*  
  
Chapter 3 ~  
  
Sam's mind had narrowed itself down to two thoughts: "Frodo" and "Survive". His sight had narrowed itself down to the cruel gate blocking his path. His ears were deaf to the world, capable only of hearing a dull, frantic buzzing and an ethereal singing deep in the back of his head. He could feel nothing but a throbbing pain, but whether it was caused by an injury or his own blind panic he didn't know. The sum of what Sam's senses could provide him with at the moment amounted too nothing more than "gate" "in my way" and the constant chant of "Frodo, survive, frodo, survive, frodo, survive..."  
  
Sam flung himself desperately against the door. The very last thing he was aware of was a dull crack resounding through his head, momentarily drowning out the horrible song playing in his ears. So that was what fear really was, all that buzzing and chanting and pain and always the horrible voice, all swirled into one fiery, lidless eye...  
  
************************ "Wake up, little Shireling."  
  
Sam moaned, blinking bleary, swollen eyes. Then the song came back.  
  
"Frodo," he gasped in returned fear, forcing himself back to his feet.  
  
Destiny's Muse stared at him with vicious, animal eyes, as sharp and cold as shattered silver glass.  
  
"No, not now, please, he's in, he's in Barad-dur...!"  
  
Destiny's Muse smiled, but the mist around her was heavy with a promise of pain. Her eyes cracked like a whip as she faded to vapor.  
  
Sam swung a scared and furious fist through the water droplets hanging in the air. His stomach flipped over as they condensed into blood on his hand.  
  
Black blood. Orc blood.  
  
The returning strands of reality weren't the only reason why Sam's world spun.  
  
He was flying, ripping through the poisonous air so fast his eyes stung like acid. Below him, the land of Mordor whizzed past in a blur of black and heat, shadows and smoke. Yet, Sam didn't remember that river, not even on the maps he'd seen of the Black Land. He noted absently that it twisted and turned just like the Brandywine. . .  
  
Only this river was red and black with the blood of the hobbits floating in it.  
  
Sam's thoughts froze. He was little more than dead for several seconds, numb to the point of a comatose state. Suddenly, the land beneath Sam rocketed by so fast, he had to screw his eyes shut or he was sure they would have liquefied to nothing more than tears. If it hadn't been for that sudden jolt, the stupefied hobbit wasn't sure if he'd have ever gotten his heart started again.  
  
With no warning, Sam came to a screaming, backbreaking halt. His feet were slammed into the cracked, unforgiving ground beneath him, so hard his knees buckled and he toppled over.  
  
Sam didn't open his eyes until the cry of a Nazgul overhead startled him into a sitting position. He was breathing so hard he thought his heart might burst.  
  
A terrible, huge dark shape loomed before him, silhouetted by the pulsing glow of Mount Doom behind it. The tower of Barad-dur leered down at Sam, laughing mockingly at him through the cracking screams of the tortured prisoners within.  
  
And suddenly Sam was flying again, shrieks ringing in his ears along with his own, as he was yanked steadily upward, until he reached the very top of the Tower, and a dark, filthy window, decorated with dried blood.  
  
He pitched forward violently, and toppled into the room, scrambling away from the window and the terrifying drop beneath. He lay flat on his back for several seconds, thinking of nothing but forcing himself to breathe.  
  
A whimper of pain caused Sam to whirl around, slipping slightly on the sticky red liquid splattered on the grimy stone floor.  
  
He cringed backward as an impulse when he beheld the sickly orc chained to the opposite wall. It was convulsing violently, and even as Sam watched a rivulet of blood oozed between its lips. A puddle of blood was pooled at its feet.  
  
It had very large feet. And even for an orc, it was very short.  
  
Sam felt like an oliphant had been dropped over his head. Two hopeless, tormented crescents of a sapphire blue screamed silently from under half- closed eyelids.  
  
Frodo gasped another shrill moan and shuddered weakly.  
  
Sam didn't move. He froze, as still as silver.  
  
Frodo's swollen and unmistakably broken wrists had been chained high above his head, so he dangled helplessly, his feel barely touching the ground. His hands were white, blue veins glaring out through waxy skin, clearly deprived of blood. His ears were long and brutally pointed, as if they had been ripped backward and frozen there. Whip lashes coated his being, all dripping a reddish, blackish blood off his back and chest and thighs. An angry welt even was slashed across his face, one of his eyes purple and swollen almost shut. But worst was his face, gaunt and so shadowed by bruises and scars that it had turned the grimy, sickly gray of orcs.  
  
The filthy walls of the tower suddenly rocketed inward, closing in on Sam until he thought he would surely be squashed under the weight of. . . his mind refused to finish the thought. It refused to do much at all.  
  
Sam didn't know how long he lay there, staring in unmuted horror at the broken hobbit before him. He was afraid to move, afraid that at any second, what that beaten little figure represented would leap at him with a snarl, and squeeze the very blood from his heart.  
  
Frodo's eyes rolled, his eyelids fluttering. His breath dragged and finally caught, and he convulsed violently, unable to breathe.  
  
Sam slowly and tremulously rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving Frodo's blackened ones. He edged forward apprehensively, trying to move as little as possible, though why, he was not sure.  
  
Frodo gulped like a fish out of water, before going completely limp, and for all the world, dropping like a corpse.  
  
Sam froze, his outstretched hand quivering. He was afraid to touch the half orc before him. Sam worried that even the slightest jar would snap this creature in half. And he feared the blood. So much blood. . .  
  
It was Frodo's blue lips that finally startled Sam into action. He reached toward his former master and best friend, and gently tilted his head back, rubbing his throat with just as much care.  
  
Frodo spluttered, and a horrible red bubble blossomed from his mouth. It burst, and showered Sam's hand in little red rubies. Sam squeaked and cringed back. His stomach lurched into his mouth, and he was hard pressed not to vomit all over the floor. Though it probably wouldn't have made much difference, the stones were so filthy already.  
  
When Sam finally forced himself to look up again, Frodo was shaking like a leaf, whimpering incoherently and struggling to sink into the solid rock behind him. The site was so heart wrenching, Sam completely forgot his terror and gently stroked Frodo's cheek.  
  
Frodo went as still as a board, his breathing ragged and keening cries shrill. Sam felt the tormented hobbit's body tense, as though bracing itself for a cracking blow.  
  
Sam's tears dripped sluggishly to the floor, where they splattered in a dance of heartbreak.  
  
"Frodo," he called softly, trying his hardest to hide the hoarse and rough edge to his voice, brought on by so long without enough water. "Shhh, Frodo, it's," he couldn't bring himself to say okay, "it's. . . Sam. Your Sam is 'ere. Don't be frightened, love."  
  
Frodo's twisted ears twitched, and Sam felt a liquid dripping pooling between his fingers where they were stroking Frodo's face. Sam saw, with both a thrill sorrow and ironic joy, that they were tears. Frodo wasn't completely lost yet.  
  
The poor little hobbit didn't seem able to help himself any longer. Whether Frodo knew who was comforting him or not, he broke down and collapsed into the soothing hands on his face, sobbing brokenly for everything he'd lost, for all the people he'd let down, and for the life he could never, ever have back.  
  
He cried for never even getting to say goodbye.  
  
And Sam cried with him.  
  
Frodo whimpered softly as he nestled into Sam's hand, snuggling into the warmth like a freezing kitten. He swallowed the burning blood in his mouth, afraid he would frighten his new comforter away by his repulsiveness. He didn't want to be alone again. It was when he was alone that the ghosts came.  
  
Sam wanted nothing more than to snap the dirty chains binding his master in half with his bear hands, and get them both out of this terrifying place, but all the agonized hobbit could do was hug the dying prisoner to his chest. His helplessness was a torture almost as bad as the torments Frodo had been forced to endure.  
  
It was as Sam's mind was being poisoned with the puss bleeding from his many dying hopes, that Frodo murmured hoarsely into his hand, "S-sam?"  
  
So many overwhelming emotions flooding Sam's already horror-numbed mind, he would have fainted then and there if Frodo hadn't sounded so pleading and scared.  
  
"That's right, Frodo. Shhh. . . don't talk. Just be still now."  
  
"Sam," Frodo whimpered softly, completely ignoring Sam's advice about not speaking. "Oh Sam, dear Sam, I'm sorry, so sorry, please, just don't leave me, there were so many. . ." Frodo broke off, shuddering violently and leaning even further into Sam's comforting hand. Sam hushed him softly, resting Frodo's bleeding head on his shoulder and hoisting him up slightly, to take some of the pressure off his broken wrists. Sam wondering in an abstract way if Frodo could understand a word he was saying, considering his sobs and quavering voice.  
  
Whether the former ringbearer could decipher a single word or not, he nestled into Sam's neck, desperate for comfort. He hadn't been comforted in so long, and he was so cold and lonely, and everything hurt so bad.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo mumbled again.  
  
Even under such horrible circumstances, Sam's hobbit curiosity got the better of him. "For what?"  
  
Frodo sobbed again. "For everything, everything's my fault. I didn't want to, Sam! I tried so hard! But it hurt so much, and I was so tired, and I couldn't stand for them to touch me anymore!"  
  
Sam was sincerely regretting his question. He hugged Frodo carefully, avoiding the many welts ripped across his skin and whispering, "That's alright, Mr. Frodo, I don't blame you, shhh, you did nothing wrong."  
  
But Frodo had worked himself into a state, and was beginning to hyperventilate. "No, I did everything wrong Sam, and I'm so sorry, I don't remember it, not a thing, just the pain and blood and the screaming, and when I found out what I'd done I wanted to die Sam, I wanted to die so much I tried to kill myself, and I begged and pleaded so so much, but they just dragged me up here, and locked me up, and made me watch, and I'm certain I went mad then Sam, I screamed so much they had to whip me to make me stop." Frodo gasped frantically for breath, his eyes huge and lit with the wild light of fear and madness, completely deaf to Sam's pleas for him to calm down. All at once Frodo moaned and fell lifelessly, like a puppet when its string are cut.  
  
Sam was silent, for he truly had nothing to say. He just hugged his friend to him and cried. The torture had driven him crazy.  
  
Frodo coughed weakly again, and just managed to choke out, "P-please, let me d-die. L-let me come with you, I can't bear it anymore, I j-just want to sleep. . . so tired. . ." he trailed off softly, the silver blood of his dying soul dripping out his exhausted, pleading and tormented eyes. His terrifyingly haunted blue orbs locked on something across the tower, and he shuddered to the point of nearly thrashing, his tears splashing down his beaten face in torrents.  
  
"Sam . . . so sorry. . ." he whimpered again.  
  
Suddenly Sam was so full of dread, he was certain he was drowning in his own foreboding. Gasping desperately for air, he whirled around in a panic, his eyes ripping around the room like a crazed animal, until they fell on the object propped up against the opposite wall. Sam froze, shocked to a point of unconsciousness.  
  
A corpse was lying there, horribly decomposing and with a face so grotesque it could terrify even the most hardened Uruk. It had obviously been tortured and beaten to death in this very room, judging by the smears of blood across the walls and the horrible, gaping wounds yawning in its flesh. Its face was frozen in the very image of pain and terror, and its eyes were like bottomless chasms of brown, that could suck you in and drag you down with it.  
  
But that wasn't even the worst of it, at least not for the traumatized hobbit that had been chained in its cursed presence for so long. No, the worst dagger this torture could pierce its victim with was its curly blonde hair and woolly hobbit feet.  
  
Sam felt Frodo thrash behind him, writhing under its piercing glare, and heard the orcish hobbit whimper and scream in anguish and a pain beyond any physical. Sam heard the edge of madness to his voice.  
  
And Sam knew what Frodo had been forced to watch.  
  
*TBC* 


	4. Orcish

Yes, I know, I'm a terrible person. Got to get better at this updating jazz! *ducks back into cave to avoid volley of arrows* Heh heh... I BEG MERCY! *hobbit eyes*  
  
THANK YOU SHIRE!ELF!! glad you don't get tired of it! ^_~ *chocolate covered shrooms!* My beta, you know, so's I won't go making mortifying mistakes like in chapter one! (Got Frodo's shoulders mixed up, it's his LEFT! *taps noes* Don't be hasty) So people, go read her stuff, 'cause they're the kind of stories where you really have to press yourself to get over your shock at how great the story was and move on to her next one!  
  
Anyways!  
  
Chapter 4 ~ Orcish  
  
Horrible images flashed before Sam's eyes.  
  
He saw himself being dragged in, struggling and kicking and cursing, surrounded by a victorious throng of orcs through the door of the tower. He saw Frodo in the background, already covered in welts and being held back by a huge Uruk-hai as he fought desperately to run to Sam, frantically calling his gardener's name.  
  
"Sam! Sam!! NO! SAM!!"  
  
Sam watched his could-be self whirl around and gape at Frodo in shock.  
  
All at once, one of the orcs yanking Sam along got tired with his resistance, and caught him a dizzying blow to his temple. Sam groaned and slumped, but didn't pass out. Instead, he continued blinking bemused eyes at Frodo. Frodo screamed as he watched Sam fall.  
  
"NOO!!" And with a wild, fear and rage driven strength, Frodo somehow managed to yank his arm free of the Uruk's iron grip. In a blind burst of adrenaline, the little hobbit lunged, catching the Urak-hai's hand in his teeth. With a crunch of bone scraping bone, Frodo ripped the Uruk's knuckles clean out of its blackened skin.  
  
The Uruk-hai roared, and Frodo was thrown into the ground, black blood dripping from his mouth. He sprang right back up, and snatched the confused and enraged creature's sword out of its scabbard, and holding it in both hands, swung it clumsily into the Uruk's knee. There was a horrible crack, and the Uruk fell.  
  
Sam watched all this in complete disbelief, his mouth hanging open. He was terrified by the animal void of Frodo's eyes, like a wounded and cornered wolf's.  
  
The May-be Sam was being dragged along by his hair down the corridor, nearing a corner at the end of it. None of the orcs seemed to notice the tiny, beaten figure panting for breath behind them over a felled Uruk-hai, clutching a bloodied orc sword much to big for him in white, shaking hands, swaying violently in front of the still open gate to Barad-dur.  
  
Frodo hesitated for only a second, casting one longing gaze at the unbarred gate leading out of this hell, before hefting up his huge orc blade and running after Sam.  
  
"NO!" the Sam watching all this screamed desperately, lurching forward to stop the Could-Be from running straight to his doom. But Frodo's madly gleaming eyes didn't even waver, and Sam realized, he was helpless. He was completely invisible, and powerless to stop the haunting reality pulsing around him.  
  
Sam swayed and his vision blurred, even as Frodo reached the throng of orcs and swung recklessly at the nearest monsters bearing the semi-conscious Sam. A shower of black orc blood spurted through the air, but was soon joined by a spray of red and a cracking scream.  
  
Frodo teetered and fell, a horrible, jagged lash ripped across his chest. And then the orcs pounced.  
  
Sam couldn't help it any more. His eyes rolled back and he fainted, Frodo's screams still ringing in his ears.  
  
"Whadda ya reckon it is?"  
  
"How the fug should I know? Easy meat is all I'm thinkin'."  
  
"Na, don't go killing it yet, ya better wait 'till the Cap'm gets back."  
  
Sam groaned softly, thousands of blinding stars blinking around inside his head. His mind pulsed with the beat of their dancing, faster, faster, faster. . . and the voices only added to the rhythmic pounding in his ears. Valar, did Sam have a headache.  
  
"Might be one 'na dem halfling rats," a low, rough voice was barking. Sam felt like he should be afraid, the star's dance was trying to tell him something, but he was too tired to figure out what. "The Cap'd be right pleased if it was, might even give us second rations."  
  
"Ya know the boss'd never do that." The first voice Sam had heard floating through the fog of his mind spoke again. "He 'ardly keeps us alive as it is. 'E'd never cough up extra food. Flog us more he'd do." Yes, this was the voice that had told the other not to kill him, was it not? This voice was slightly higher than the other one was, not by much, but perceptibly so. It sounded more worn and hoarse as opposed to the second, throatier voice.  
  
And it sounded scared.  
  
Sam blinked slowly, two grayish blobs were bobbing over him. The stars gave one last warning blink as they drifted slowly into the back of his mind, the song diminishing along with them.  
  
The burning eye faded as well. Sam's head cracked with pain. For some reason he knew he should be frightened or relieved, but he couldn't find the energy for either.  
  
The lower voice was growling again. "Flog /us/? Who said anything about /us/? If anyone's gonna be handin' this thing ova to Shagrat, it's gonna be you."  
  
There was a short pause. The blob's were beginning to focus.  
  
"Well, what if he'd be likin' it? Looks like it'd be me getting the second ale, iffin it was /me/ that brought it to 'em."  
  
"If that'd be what happened, then you'd be getten flogged by me. Take yer pick, half-swallow."  
  
Sam's head took one last stinging pang, and everything slid back into focus.  
  
Well, for a moment. Before Sam's mind could take in a thing, a painful talon encased his entire lower arm in an iron grip, and he was hauled dizzyingly to his feet.  
  
"Lookit, the mite's awake."  
  
Sam's eyes went huge. A black and fearsome Uruk-hai was leering down at him, appraising him like some sheep or cow ready for the butcher, it's rotten breath nearly making Sam gag.  
  
Next to it stood a little orc, bristling and spider-like, running its tongue over sharp, white little teeth as it peered at him, too. Its skin was a pale gray, with an angry white scar slashed across the center of its face, and many other reddish and black relics of its mutation. Its gaunt face was framed by two long, grotesquely pointed orc ears, which dangled with rusty metal and bleached bone orcish jewelry.  
  
It glared at Sam sharply, the icy, electric blue of its eyes so cold it burned. Behind it, Destiny's Muse floated past on an adjacent corridor, her identical, animalistic eyes never straying from their fixed point straight ahead.  
  
Sam's blood ran so cold it must have frozen, because his heart certainly didn't beat for several seconds.  
  
Frodo stared into Sam's eyes, seeing in so deep it was like gazing through a window onto a life lost and forgotten. Sam stared back, and watched his friend's eyes soften as they beheld more pleasant images, reflections of memories he had forgotten, little tokens that were all Frodo had left of the Shire. The little orc broke eye contact first, blinking and casting his gaze to the floor. He growled low in his throat, not out of anger or fear, but confusion. He didn't know what else to do.  
  
Sam wondered why tears wouldn't come, as his eyes prickled and burned. But his were not the only ones. A third eye burned along with his own.  
  
The Uruk-hai was speaking. "Here, you, take the mite back ta my quarters, an don't let any of da others see we have it. And don't ya even think about havin' a midnight snack."  
  
"You take it back, I'm not missin' my only meal again. We got watch tonight too, and there's no way I'm standin' all night out there on an empty stomach."  
  
The Uruk growled angrily, and Sam could just see Frodo flinch beneath his baggy orc rags. "You'll take it back an' keep it hidden 'till I see if it's worth anythin'. An' if you try anything gutsy, I'll tell Number One it was you who let them other halfling rats go. Ya hear?"  
  
Sam watched the small amount of blood in Frodo's face drain away, and judging by how he quaked, the Uruk had come dangerously close to the truth.  
  
Sam suddenly found himself wondering what happened to Merry and Pippin.  
  
Frodo hissed angrily and grabbed the offered rope from the Uruk-hai's hand, tying it tightly around Sam's neck before the shocked hobbit could even cry at the irony.  
  
The Uruk snorted his approval and stomped away. Frodo swore at his back.  
  
"Come on, you," he snapped, yanking on Sam's lead. Sam stumbled and followed obediently down the filthy stone corridor, unable to think of anything else to do. Frodo didn't look at him, keeping his angry eyes busy glaring at the few other underling orcs they passed, barring his teeth occasionally as to ward off a possible attack. Sam noticed he kept his scarred hand gripped on the handle of a small sheathed blade in his belt. Sam didn't blame him. He was by far the shortest orc around.  
  
One particularly large orc moved to snatch Frodo by the neck, but the twisted hobbit ducked quickly and pulled out his dagger, breathing hard. The orc leered down at him, his amber eyes flickering from Sam back to Frodo.  
  
"Whatcha got there, maggot-" Frodo didn't give him a chance to finish, scurrying away before things got ugly, Sam scampering along in his wake.  
  
Finally, Frodo and Sam reached a rotting wooden door at the end of the hallway. Frodo kicked it open and, still pulling Sam along by the neck, jerked his companion inside. Sam squeaked at the pain in his neck, and looked up at Frodo with a bruised soul. The two halflings had walked together so many times before, but now everything was so wrong.  
  
Frodo looked blankly back at Sam, and again looked away, something like fear flickering behind his scars. There was a pause, as Frodo tied Sam's lead to a post on a crude bed collapsing in a corner, and Sam shivered with indecision.  
  
Frodo suddenly yelped like a dog and whirled around, staring at Sam with eyes so frantic and wild he looked the maddest he had yet.  
  
"What are you!?!" he demanded shrilly, messaging his left shoulder as though it pained him. A wraith screeched outside. "What are you? SPEAK!"  
  
Sam backed up, startled by Frodo's sudden outburst, but stuttered. "I-I'm a, a hobbit, I'm. . ." but Sam stopped. He couldn't take the pain of Frodo not remembering. Not again.  
  
Frodo was staring at him intently, fixing his eyes with such a sharp blue glow it made Sam feel uncomfortable to blink. He was still breathing hard, but seemed to have calmed down a little. He dropped his hand from his shoulder.  
  
"A hobbit," he whispered, trying out the word for himself.  
  
Sam nodded tiredly, a new sadness gnawing at his heart. "A hobbit."  
  
Frodo's eyes fixed on something so far away, a life and a death separated the memory from the soul that longed for it so. Such a sorrow floated in the little orc's eyes, an onlooker would suddenly not think the seas so big, nor the stars so bright.  
  
Sam died a little death as he watched Frodo grieve for what he couldn't even remember. For Sam, the Light of Earendil would never be quite so bright again.  
  
Frodo looked up slowly, as though the weight of the world was dangling around his neck. Like it once had. "My name is Maznak," he mumbled softly, by way of a small comfort.  
  
That did it for Sam. Galadrial's starglass flickered and died, and Sam was angry. He'd loved the Lady's light.  
  
"NO!" he hollered furiously, screaming the one word that all of his recent emotions could be crammed under. Frodo jumped and bristled, his hand flying to his dagger. "NO!" he yelled again, "No! That's not your name! Your name is Frodo! Frodo Baggins! Ya hear me?" Sam yanked at the cord around his neck so hard, he pulled the bedpost clear off the rotting frame. Sam watched the splinters snap and fall to the floor, broken bits of what had once held the bed upright.  
  
Sam swayed and sunk to the floor, staring at the broken shards of wood and clasping at the rope around his neck. "Frodo," he whispered to himself, so he wouldn't forget. "Frodo Baggins of the Shire."  
  
Sam didn't know how long he'd stared into eternity, but eventually he felt a movement next to him, and looked up to see a very white and wide-eyed Frodo grabbing him by the collar and cramming him under the collapsed bed.  
  
"Stay down," Frodo hissed, pushing Sam's curly head out of sight. Frodo paused for a half second, examining Sam's hobbit locks, raising a hand to brush them back from Sam's forehead. The little orc narrowed his eyes and spun around hurriedly. But Sam saw him raise a quivering hand to his own dark curls, where they flopped over his eyes.  
  
It was as Frodo spun around and slinked towards the door, that Sam first heard the commotion outside. He startled and ducked even farther under the bed, identifying the angry snarling and pounding as orcs trying to knock the door down.  
  
Frodo slipped catlike across the room, like a thin, slinking shadow, to hide in the darkness next to the door. Not a second later, the door burst open with a deafening bang, and nearly burst off its hinges as it swung backwards, effectively concealing Frodo from sight.  
  
Orcs poured into the room like water, scurrying about in a mad frenzy like dark crabs, snarling and spitting like dogs hot on a trail. Sam curled up as small as possible, and tried to melt into the stone floor beneath him, as the orcs condensed into a mob in the center of the room, peering about like predatory birds.  
  
Silent as a wisp of smoke and almost as translucent, Frodo gently eased the door almost closed, prowling out of his shadow with his dagger raised. Sam could just make out his eyes, gleaming like coals through his black bangs, lit with anger and not a little fear.  
  
Sam realized almost on a subconscious level that that was how orcs lived, sneaky and snarling but always afraid. Just one in a thousand wretched others, no doubt doomed to die spitting blood on a sword, one way or another. No one would mourn the loss of just another damnable orc.  
  
Frodo crouched ready to pounce only feet behind the nearest orc. His eyes flicked over his targets back, searching out the weakest spot, planning out where he would strike.  
  
With a shrieking snarl the diminutive orc leapt forward, plunging his dagger neatly through a gap in the chain mail stretched across his opponent's shoulder blades. The orc seized up and roared, but Frodo tossed him aside and off his blade, and stood squarely glaring at the watching pack of orcs, panting heavily. He didn't once look down at the dying creature bleeding on the ground.  
  
The tense mob hesitated, waiting for someone to make the first move. Finally, the big orc Sam recognized as the one who had tried to strangle Frodo earlier, stepped forward from the center of the group, striding up to the smaller orc threateningly, a horrible leer twisting his face.  
  
"So, rat, tryin' ta hide somemat from the rest of us, are ya?" he growled, casually pulling a sword from his belt that made Frodo's knife look like a toothpick. "Willin' to kill us to keep it a secret, aye?" he thrust the sword to Frodo's throat. Frodo kept his ground and parried the blow, but didn't have the strength nor the weapon to push the attacking sword away, only to stop the weapon from slicing his neck.  
  
The big orc lowered his voice to an intimidating hiss. "You know that's not the way things work 'round here, maggot. Little runts like you should know betta than ta mess wit the rest of us."  
  
Frodo moaned softly as the pressure pushing the sword towards his throat increased, and his hands began to shake as his strength gave out.  
  
"Time to teach you a little lesson, rat," the orc snarled in his ear.  
  
Frodo reared back and kicked the orc in the gut, ducking around the sword at his throat and swinging his dagger back behind his head in preparation for a deadly stab.  
  
The stab never came. One of the other orcs had sneaked around behind him as the big one talked, and grabbed his wrist as he flung his arm back. In less than a second, Frodo's arm was twisted brutally behind his back, and his dagger crushed from his hand. Frodo squeaked in pain as he was slammed into the wall behind him, his feet dangling a few inches above the ground.  
  
The orcs sneered and crept closer, watching happily as Frodo squirmed against the unrelenting hand at his throat that held him off the floor. His struggles became weaker and weaker as he gasped for air around the grip on his neck.  
  
Sam moved to sneak out from his hiding place, but realized what a futile action this would be and froze. Yet deep back in his heart, Sam knew that if things had been right, he would have rushed out to defend his old Frodo without a thought. But, Sam realized with a jolt, this wasn't his Frodo anymore. That little orc was Maznak.  
  
The big orc with the amber eyes leered down at the nearly limp form his crony had pinned against the wall with a new feeling of power, brought about by his ability to make another creature suffer. The big orc liked power. He wound up his arm and backhanded the pitiful thing dizzyingly across the face. Maznak moaned and blinked blearily, stunned by the cracking blow. The big orc grinned more widely, and followed his backhand with a resounding slap, watching with satisfaction as the puny orc's neck snapped back and forth under his power.  
  
Maznak's eyes rolled and his already labored breathing turned to dragging gasps as his beating continued. The lack of air made him giddy with franticness, as his shaking fingers struggled to loosen the iron grip around his aching neck. His head was bashed to and fro endlessly, making his mind dumb with pain. Finally, as the breathless orc began to drift from consciousness, the brute holding him to the wall let him drop heavily to the ground, where he lay gasping and shivering with weakness. His nose and split lip splattered black orc blood down his front, and his eyes and face blossomed purple and blue.  
  
But the orcs weren't done. They pressed in around their helpless prey like wolves on a wounded calf, beating and ripping and biting until Maznak gave up, and went completely still.  
  
The world swam before Sam's eyes, and the shocked hobbit wondered if he had passed out.  
  
All at once, a terrifying roar echoed through the room, and the pack of orcs all jumped and sprang back, scattering like dust on a wind.  
  
The Uruk-hai that had ordered Frodo to bring Sam here stood framed in the doorway, the very picture of murderous rage. The little orcs cawed and scurried about desperately, only a lucky few escaping the Uruk's deadly anger through the door.  
  
Only moments after the one-sided battle began, the Uruk flung the last underling orc out the window, and hurried across the room to where Maznak still lay sprawled on his side against the wall. Two huge black eyes were already blooming, and black blood slowly pussed from his raw cheeks. The little creature's chest heaved and his whole body shook like a leaf, weakened by his punishment. He groaned as the Uruk-hai clumsily tried to pull him to his feet, his eyes remaining weary and closed.  
  
"Maznak, you okay, little thing?"  
  
The Uruk had probably tortured and killed more prisoners than Sam had the stomach to consider, and yet here he was, unsure, awkwardly yet gently grasping a completely limp Maznak by the arms, holding his smaller partner and slave in an upright position.  
  
It was obvious that this Uruk was usually the one inflicting the pain, not the one comforting the receiver of it. After half-balancing a lopsided Maznak on his feet, the Uruk let go, apparently hoping the thrashed orc could maintain his own footing. Maznak teetered and fell, and again the Uruk stood him up and watched him collapse, at a loss of what to do.  
  
Sam scrambled out from under the bed.  
  
He knew it was stupid, he knew that his Frodo was an orc now, and that this Uruk was still a Uruk even if it did prove to have a beating heart, and that he was a little hobbit in an unforgiving and relentless world of kill or be killed, where mercy could not be spared on the dying.  
  
But Sam also knew that those orcs would have killed him, or worse, and that Maznak had protected him on a basis only as sturdy as his remembrance of him; as solid as water. Maznak had tried to take on all those bigger orcs, with nothing to support his actions besides that he and the other both had curly hair and big feet, and when he looked into Sam's eyes, he knew he hadn't always been an orc.  
  
Sam hurried across the room and caught Maznak in his arms as he fell weakly from the Uruk's hands for a third time. Sam heard the Uruk-hai grunt in surprise, but didn't look up, being too busy gaping at the bleeding orc in his lap. Maznak had finally opened his eyes, and Frodo stared up at Sam with eyes drowning in confusion.  
  
"Y-you're that one," he whispered thickly, his words heavy with fear. "The one that they. . ." Frodo trailed off shivering. Sam remembered, as he would a past nightmare, his own corpse, rotting and glaring and tormenting Frodo to the brink of insanity. And over.  
  
"They killed you," Frodo murmured softly, leaning into Sam's collarbone. "Have they killed me too? Please tell me I'm dead," Frodo pleaded  
  
Sam was at a complete loss for words. Desperately he looked up without thinking, and was mildly startled to see the Uruk-hai was still there. Sam watched the Uruk's gaze flick from his feet to Frodo's, comparing the two smaller creatures. Realization dawned in the Uruk's eyes, as he truly took in Frodo's height, curly hair and sapphire eyes for the first time. The fearsome Uruk-hai actually met Sam's gaze as he stared from one little hobbit to the other. Sam could almost see the shock and understanding chasing each other around inside the Uruk's head as it stared at the quivering orc in Sam's arms.  
  
But before another member of the strangest threesome in the history of Middle Earth could say a word, an intimidating sound echoed through the hallways and chambers of Barad-dur, splashing into every dark corner like waves of sound, until the entire tower was flooded with it. The Uruk jerked and lurched to the window, glancing about apprehensively before turning back towards the orc and hobbit.  
  
"War horns," he growled, striding over to Frodo and Sam and pulling the semi-conscious orc from his lost friend's lap. Frodo whimpered and fought to hold onto Sam, as the Uruk pushed the gardener away and yanked Frodo to his feet a fourth time, keeping the little orc upright with a hand under his arm. "They'll expect us ta fight."  
  
The Uruk wavered only a moment, glancing from the overwhelmed hobbit he'd pushed to the ground to the twisted and beaten little orc fighting his hold, struggling to return to the friend already torn away from him once. But these feelings were beyond a fighting Uruk-hai, and with a frustrated grunt, he turned and strode away down the corridor, dragging Frodo away with him.  
  
Sam was too overwhelmed to move, watching with wide eyes as Frodo twisted in the Uruk's grip to stare back at him as he was forced away, his arms dangling limply over the one bearing him along backwards. Sam saw Frodo's lips moving strangely, as though they were trying to form words.  
  
He could just hear Frodo whispering, "S-, s-, si-, se-, s-, sa-" over and over. Sam watched with a bleeding heart as his Frodo struggled to remember his forgotten friend's name, as he was yanked forcefully away, off to a battle where he would surely lose his life.  
  
Lose his life. . .  
  
Sam screamed as he was whisked away on a wind, whipped out the window and rocketed over the land of Mordor, which was swarming with armies of orcs all making their way towards the Black Gate.  
  
Sam shimmered in the air like a heat haze, invisible to any eye that happened to glance his way. Except one. But nothing was invisible to Him.  
  
Sam desperately scanned the crowds of underling orcs being forced to form into the starting lines, none of them destined to live out the day. The orc and Uruk captains bellowed and roared, trying to organize the frightened troops into lines, the smaller, weaker orcs that could be spared in the front. And there, in the second line, an especially short orc was limping into position, the biting whip of a captain at his back. The diminutive orc pulled a crude helmet lower over his head, his right hand a mess of white knuckles on the hilt of an overly-large, rusty sword.  
  
Even Sam could tell that Maznak was never going to leave this battlefield. Neither was Frodo, for that matter.  
  
With another resounding blast from the orcish war horns, and Black Gate groaned and slowly opened, unleashing a gust of ash and heat to blow over the opposing army standing unflinching outside, the Gondorian and Rohan flags flapping in the wind.  
  
Sam had floated down to shimmer next to Frodo. Even in a reality in which he was dead, Sam would be with Frodo when the end came.  
  
Frodo's eyes suddenly contracted and went huge, a wild gasp escaping his throat and all blood draining from his face.  
  
Sam followed Frodo's gaze and rasped silently as he beheld the army at the gate.  
  
Before either hobbit could get their breath back, the two armies charged, and white swords clashed with black as the two sides collided.  
  
Frodo's eyes were still huge and unfocused as he was jostled forward and forced to charge or be trampled. But the littlest orc's mind was clearly elsewhere, the raging battle around him only a fuzzy, unrealistic dream.  
  
Aragorn roared as he plunged into a sea of swords, the white tree of Gondor splashed across his chest. Legolas's twin elvin blades flashed and swirled around his hands like harnessed lightning, reeking havoc on any orcs bold enough to get too close. Gimli was surrounded by a circle of dead and dying enemies, his ax spraying blood through the air as it whistled home. And there, only adding to the surreal feeling of an unreal dream, fought Gandalf, a blinding white gleam of murderous light.  
  
Sam noticed, detached, that Merry and Pippin weren't there. Slowly, thoughts and ideas trickled through Sam's waterlogged mind; Frodo having been mutated into Maznak, Sam being murdered brutally before his friends very eyes, the Uruk saying two other halflings had been mysteriously let go. . .  
  
Sam felt a sick surge of dread, fear, and a strange anger welling up inside him. Where was the RING!?!?  
  
Both the fiery Eye woven into this could-be reality and the one branded into Sam's mind snapped and roared with renewed fire.  
  
Frodo, miraculously, had survived the initial charge, and was now fighting for his life in the heart of a furious carnage, his eyes locked in a permanent state of terror. He ducked and swung, swerved and slashed, blocked and killed, his muscles working frantically without time enough to consult his brain. Adrenaline and instinct were in control now, and his movements became increasingly more desperate, more feral, more animalistic, as he continued to knock elbows with death.  
  
Sam was petrified, frozen in blind fear, as he hung invisible in the war air. Arrows flew his way, causing him to scream in anticipation of the upcoming pain, only to strike between his eyes and rip through his head without even drawing blood. Axes and swords slashed through him, flecking torn flesh through the air, but didn't even leave a scratch. Horrifying monsters charged straight at him, roaring and frothing, but continued running, plunging the invisible hobbit momentarily in ice-cold water as they stepped right through him. Bleeding soldiers, shrieking in their dying agony, stumbled and fell through him, grizzly, mortal wounds glaring at Sam accusingly, crying tears of blood.  
  
And Sam was helpless to stop any of it, completely powerless. Floating above the battlefield, amidst the dust and ash, he alone could see the thousands of lost souls floating upwards and fading away, ripped away from the body that anchored them to Middle Earth. He alone could hear their screams.  
  
Frodo had struggled his way out of the center of the bloodshed, and now fought on the outskirts, on the far side of the battle, the side farthest from Mordor. Sam forced himself to move, biting his lip until he tasted blood as he floated literally 'through' the warfare. Yet even from the slight distance between him and Frodo, Sam could tell Frodo killed only as many elves and men as attacked him, fighting only in self-defense, his eyes traumatized oceans of fearful uncertainty. Maznak's entire world had been thrown off balance, teetering dangerously between who the little orc was now and would forever be, and who Frodo had been, and wanted more than anything to be again.  
  
Frodo shrieked simultaneously with the Ringwraiths soaring overhead, stumbling backwards and clutching his shoulder. Sam had lost count of how many times he had awoken in the night to his friend's erratic breathing and tear-filled eyes, and sat up in concern to see the same shivering hand clutching the same scarred shoulder.  
  
Finally, the tears Sam thought Mordor had dried came, and overflowed from his eyes as he truly realized how much he could lose, all the good and bad things that would only be worse if the treacherous Ring managed to tear the two ringbearers apart.  
  
When Sam blinked down through his tears at Frodo, Frodo was crying too. A thousand and one emotions swan in those blue eyes, as a tidal wave of memories washed the smallest orc's soul up on the tide, the air thick with the spray of the sea.  
  
Frodo spun around in a cloud of dust, turning his mutated yet tear-streaked face towards Barad-dur, and screamed at the top of his lungs, "SAM!!"  
  
He broke off with a pain-filled shriek, even the name of his beloved friend tainted by the blood that sprayed from his mouth as he called out Sam's name. In a burst of blinding black Frodo was stabbed right through, the tip of Narsil protruding from his chest.  
  
Frodo groaned and spluttered horribly, turning around to face his attacker even as he collapsed to his knees.  
  
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, gaped open-mouthed into the fading blue of the tiny orc's fluttering eyes, rasping despairingly, "Frodo?"  
  
Frodo stared, shocked, heartbroken yet without accusation, into Aragorn's eyes, panting weakly for breath as his life dripped to the parched ground. His eyes fluttered half closed and with one last gasp he fell over backwards, Narsil jerked harshly between his shoulders.  
  
Before a sobbing Aragorn could reach his side, Frodo was gone. The last thing he ever saw was the smoky red sky of the land that had taken everything from him.  
  
TBC  
  
Bwa ha ha! Fear me! Okay, we need a nice fluffy fate soon, I'm starting to scare myself.  
  
REVIEWERS I LOVE YOU! I can't put into words how much you guys mean to me so I'm not even gonna try! Thank you SO MUCH!  
  
For Chapter Two! ~ Linriel- Slashless Sam! We likes friend!sam. Ick, nasty schoolsess. We hates it too. *ahem* Yes... more shroomies for you! Wide selection this time, we've got chocolate covered, vanilla, and those yummy multicolored sprinkles! Take your pick. 0o0o0o0oh, that was a great idea for the end! *pokes plot bunnies, so they start running on their hamster wheels that power my muses' thinking caps* Must incorporate that some how...  
  
Lady-Willowish- Welcome on board mate! Rum? Or maybe a poisonous shroomie? (Woo, way too much Pirates of the Caribbean...) Glad you like it! *sniff* Yea, I never liked how clueless Sam was about Frodo wanting to come back, so screw that, I wrote this! :D  
  
Danny Barefoot- *jams pot over head and grabs Sam's frying pan* Heh heh, um, I'm using movie verse because I kinda sorta *glances around nervously* haven'treadthebooks *is attacked by army of orcs* Meep! I'm sorry! I will! Someday! Promise! Thank you loads for the help though... must stop mentioning the Valar...  
  
QT-Pie- *blushes happily* Pretty pretty pretty review! *glances around nervously and tosses review under bed with other shiny gold mysteriously ring-shaped reviews* Thank you SOO much! And about why Sam's having these dreams, *giggles evilly* we'll be finding out soon enough, I've been thinking of writing a little companion piece from Frodo's POV with some more hints in it... *moo ha ha*  
  
ShireElf- LOVE YOU GIRL! Got your second email thingy. Happy it was no trouble! *hugs Frodo!Muse too* I love muses! *Frodo begins to suffocate* o0o0o0oh, look at what an adorable shade of blue he's turning!  
  
Evil Vampire Lady- Wow, I'm so happy you're like it so much! Have to get better with updating...  
  
Irish Flying Fish- Glad you like! And yep, Frodo's going to have some very interesting AUs to listen to!  
  
Sami1010220- *tear* Thank you!  
  
Bubble Girl- SO GLAD TO SEE I'M NOT THE ONLY SKITZO ON THE SITE! *high fives* go schizophrenia! Our alternate-egos should get together some time! ^_^  
  
RabidSamFan- hee hee, yea, poor Sam. He could use a break *hands Sam!Muse a kitkat bar*  
  
Arwen Baggins- Happy you liked it! And glad someone was sharp enough to pick up on Frodo having dreams too. *shrooms for you!* I might do a little companion ficcy thing, from Frodo's POV, not sure yet though. After writing all this gloom and doom I just wanna read cute little Merry and Pip fics! ^_~  
  
Aaand... Chapter 3! ~ Linriel- have I mentioned I was THRILLED to see people were following my story! *jig of glee* and yet more shroomies! *munches happily on cookies, throwing the odd chocolate chip to Frodo!Muse* Thank you SO MUCH for about the billionth time. *giggles happily* I STUNNED people! *more scary victory jig*  
  
Arwen Baggins- *squeals* Another follower person! [insert victory jigging with hobbit muses] Real close, but not quite what Frodo was watching. He was remembering the orcs killing Sam. Equally traumatizing for the poor guy, though, huh? Thank you soo much, hope you liked this chapter!  
  
RabidSamFan- *BRANDYWINE OF SHROOMS!* Shh! Don't give it away! Wow, you smart cookie, you guessed it! Treacherous little ring, isn't it? ^_~  
  
Laurajslr- *bounces with excitement* Pretty reviewsie! :D Thank you soo much for everything, I'm happy you like it! Hope you enjoyed this chapter too. Help yourself to shrooms! *offers platter*  
  
ShireElf- *shrugs and throws more shrooms* Why not? THANK YOU SOO MUCH FOR THE BA-JILLIONTH TIME, might as well not stop sounding like a broken record now! :o)  
  
Evil Vampire Lady- No, not Merry or Pip poor Frodo had to watch die! That's all explained up nice in this chap though, so I won't go into a rant. *sniff* Yea, poor Sammy, he didn't ask to go on this quest, DID HE GANDALF!?! *glares murderously* AHEM! Yea. THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEW! ^-^ hope you liked this chapter too! *shroom!*  
  
Sami1010200- Thanx! :oD  
  
A E Amdusias Blue- *hands more ducktape* I'M SORRY! Maybe I'll start writing fluff after this. THANK YOU FOR REVIEW THOUGH! *shroomie... geez I'm starting to run out*  
  
Skye12- *grits teeth* my...comp...is...so...EVIL! OMG! IT WON'T LET ME READ YOUR STORY! THE TORTURE! THE PAIN! THE AGONY! *writhes on the ground, while Frodo watches with a look of revenge* It's been killing me! Just know I'm sure it's positively magnificent and I must get to the library soon and read your updates before I completely crack! If I haven't already *shifty eyes* Hm, perhaps we are crazy *Frodo and Sam look shocked at the very idea* heh, we won't go into a rant like that again, I promise! Next review will be nice and sane, you'll see! (I hope) *does a little jig* I'm a nutbag, a nutbag, a nutbag! Hee hee I like that expression! THANK YOU SOO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWSIE! You had be bouncing off the walls with excitement when you reviewed, cause like, I love your story and I was really excited *trails off staring down the mouths of twenty so pistols* I think they've come to tranquilize me again... anywayz, truckload of shrooms for you! ^_^  
  
Chaos- Glad you like it! Hope you liked this chappie too. Thank you soo much!  
  
Danny Barefoot- Thank you soo much! Sorry I wasn't creative enough to think of something entirely unique for hobbits to turn in to, hope little orcs were okay... Must go read Mary Borsillio's fic! I'm excited! Don't worry, Evil!Frodo is coming soon enough! Thanks again for all your help!  
  
QT-Pie- *is stroking review when Frodo stomps in and steals it from her* GIVE IT BACKSESS! *notices people watching* oh, um, heh heh, hi! I can't even put into words how much I love your reviews, so I'm not even gonna try and am just gonna say THANK YOU SOO MUCH I LOVE YOU! *shrooms shrooms shrooms!*  
  
*rubs wrists and weighs empty shroom bag in hands* I don't think I've ever responded to so many reviews in my LIFE! THANK YOU SOO MUCH YOU GUYS! *tear* 


	5. Silver Glass

Hangs head in complete and utter shame I truly am embarrassed. This chapter was kind of hard to write, but that was NO REASON for me to fall off the face of the earth. I'M SORRY! I promise, I'll be back haunting your every waking moment with insane reviews soon! Honest! apologetic shrooms  
  
THIS CHAP IS DEDICATED TO ELEGANT ARROW (I have all fake fingers now. Thank Elbereth for modern technology! I swear, you will have an ulcer from all my insane reviews as soon as I can manage it. I'm SO sorry!) SKYE12 (you deserve like a Sam-of-the-Year award. hands potato Okay, now it's official!) and SHIRE ELF! (I felt so bad about updating, I just posted this. I bet it's a billion times worse than if I'd sent it to you. Don't take it the wrong way, I was just so annoyed with myself I posted the second I was done. Heh, let's hope to spellchecker! bites nails)  
  
Chapter Five  
  
Silver Glass  
  
"Sam, I..." Frodo choked on his own words, swaying where he stood and clawing as if for dear life at the chain around his neck. Sam numbly wrapped an arm around his hyperventilating friend's waist, supporting him shakily whilst trying to seize the ringbearer's frenzied hands. Frodo's eyes rolled, part of him fighting the Ring and but most of him fighting Sam.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, please," Sam begged hoarsely, watching in despair and fear as Frodo snarled and panted.  
  
"Let go," he hissed. "It's mine... mine... I need it... need..." Sam weakly shook his shoulders, fighting not to collapse himself.  
  
"Please Sam!" voice growing hysterical now. "I'm so tired... just for a moment... tired, yes... sleep, preciou-" Frodo's eyes began to roll, as his desperate hand found his prize and weakly batted Sam's away.  
  
"Frodo, no, just, just hold on a little bit longer," Sam pleaded. "We, we can rest here, for a while." Sam slowly drew Frodo's longing fingers from the Ring. The nearly undone hobbit whimpered. Sam felt something hot splatter on his hand.  
  
Blood dribbled between Frodo's teeth, his throat grated raw by suppressed coughing.  
  
Sam stared at the blood, and listened to Frodo splutter and cough, horrible memories of a certain Fate plaguing his mind.  
  
Frodo moaned and pitched forward, partly sprawling on the biting lava rocks before Sam caught him by the shoulders. Frodo starred sightlessly at the sky, fumbling with the chain at his neck, before Sam grasped his hands again. Frodo hissed softly, his eyes clouding over.  
  
Sam collapsed next to him, drawing his friend's head into his lap even as he lost consciousness. He saw Destiny's Muse beckon at him with one graceful hand, and two tired to argue, Sam followed her pale, bitter blue eyes into darkness.  
  
For a moment, Sam thought he was still awake. The scenery hadn't changed, Mordor lay mocking him in every direction, draining the strength from his heart. The poisonous fumes still tainted the air, the rocky ground still burning his feet.  
  
However, Sam was reassured of his dreaming when he turned around to see himself and Frodo passed out against a large ashen boulder. Just... as they were when Sam had fallen asleep.  
  
Sam had a very bad feeling about all this. He glanced around apprehensively, surveying that the glaring sun was slightly lower in the sky then before. Alright, this was the very /very/ near future than.  
  
Could-be Frodo was speaking, his face deathly pale, blue veins visible through his skin. Sam's heart skipped a beat and he staggered closer. But he was too late. He never heard Frodo's last words, but somehow be knew, deep in the most ominous corner of his heart, that the one true ounce of Frodo that remained within his hollowed husk had just said goodbye. And Sam hadn't heard.  
  
In a flash of painful light, he saw Destiny's Muse glaring at him, before his soul was gripped by an iron fist, and premonitions chased each other frantically through his head.  
  
Whatever those words had been, they were the last Frodo of the Shire would ever speak. His eyes dimmed, and slid out of focus, and his two last tears slipped slowly down his deathly pale face. And when Sam stared numbly at them, he saw two drops of blood, red and horrible and final, the death of his Frodo Baggins.  
  
Shire Frodo never actually saw the Shire again. All he had wished for was to get what he'd once had back. He didn't want unending riches, or awesome power. He didn't want anything grand or majestic. He just wanted back what had been taken from him. He only wanted what was rightfully his, nothing more. But fate had stolen his life from him bit by bit, starting when he was only twelve years old, until so much was gone, his soul had nothing to hold itself up with, and finally collapsed, a shattering of silvery dust.  
  
Frodo of the Shire was never buried. He was never laid down to peaceful sleep and dreams of white shores. The Ring stole even that from him, forcing his beaten body to keep going even after his soul was dead. His spirit still haunts the very land that finally killed him. If one was to enter the ruined land of Mordor whole ages later, after the War of the Rings had long ago become a collection of battle histories, bedtime stories and great songs, all together in the pages of a slowly crumbling red book, even then a lost soul would still linger sadly there, chained forever to earth by his shadows.  
  
The only memorial Frodo of the Shire would ever have was a single flower. Hardly even that, more of a weed, with wide, sweet-smelling healing leaves and small white buds like the stars he had lost. This single athelas plant, the only dot of green in a black, ruined land, rustles softly with the dusty winds and volcanic rumbles atop a jagged red rock under the beating sun. And when one listens very carefully to its soft swishing on a deadened breeze, you can just barely hear Frodo's voice, the only sweet thing in all the bleeding heart of Mordor. You can just barely hear him speaking with a ghostly memory of Sam, or a cousin, or some other loved one lost forever to him. You can just barely hear him lamenting a thousand "what ifs" and "could haves", crying without tears as he remembers all those times which were, in the end, the very last. If only he had known, that last day with his parents, that last day with Bilbo, that last gang-up with Merry against Pippin, that last march with the fellowship, that last day in the Shire... if he had known, before the end of all things came, he would have said goodbye.  
  
And then the wind will die like so many others things had in the Black Land, and the leaves' rustling will stop, and Frodo's ghost will turn away and continue his eternal wandering, asking why yet another time, and wishing along with so many other things that tears would come.  
  
Not all who wander are lost. . .  
  
Sam's body jerked harshly from his nightmare, and he found himself staring with stinging eyes at the tiny figure curled up at his side. Sam finally forced himself to blink and keep living, and when his eyes focused through his shock he saw that the two drops of blood were gone, replaced by two salty, bitter tears. Frodo's dulled and hardened eyes glared out at the world with accusation, asking desperately if this was all there ever was. The life had gone from him.  
  
But Sam saw with a suffocating, drowning feeling of sorrow, that the dead hobbit still breathed, slowly and methodically, clearly an instinct of the body and not a desire of the mind. Sam realized, that even as Destiny's Muse had shown him the next Fate, that Fate had become a reality. The Ring had won, before they ever really had a chance. Frodo was worse than dead.  
  
Sam collapsed, sobbing, feeling his own life and will being drained out his eyes, mixed with his tears, as he steadily grew weaker and weaker.  
  
"Do you see now, Samwise Gamgee?" a low voice, both sinister and soothing at the same time, reached out to his dying soul through the mist. A gentle yet prickling hand cupped his chin and raised his limp head, until Sam Gamgee and Destiny's Muse were each gazing at the other, hopeless brown eyes to unfocused grayish blue. The Muse's eyes exactly mirrored the lost ringbearer's, dimmed and unfocused and lightless. Dead.  
  
"Do you see, Samwise?" she repeated, gesturing gracefully at the shadowy, surreal reality that now pulsed for the first time around the weakened hobbit. Sam noticed fuzzily that everything gleamed silver.  
  
"He is gone," she purred, pointing a clawed finger at a silvery figure lying prone on the ground. "Or very nearly." A very weak light shivered about Frodo's outline, and Sam could just barely discern by this light the pale, nearly translucent colors tainting the silver, the only things still linking Frodo to the land of the living and keeping him from the world of silver glass.  
  
"There is no hope for him, Samwise, and neither for you. Look, Sam, he has given up. He has left you, in the end. Forsaken you." Sam groaned in despair, letting his exhausted eyes fall closed. "There is no hope remaining, Samwise Gamgee. Nothing is left for you. Only death."  
  
Sam felt the last of his strength seeping from his heart. He gave into the Muse's subduing touch, sinking slowly into the pain numbing flames.  
  
"Surrender, halfling."  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
And quite suddenly, the comforting flames were gone, the song was gone, and Sam was falling through a great darkness of nothing. He jerked his head up with a startled gasp as he plummeted downward, staring in shocked terror at the sight rocketing away from him as he roared downward.  
  
Destiny's Muse laughed derisively down at him, her voice like a thousand ringwraiths shrieking in mockery, as she held Sam's limp body by the neck in a vice-like grip. Sam gaped at the apparition in numb panic, where she stood triumphant with the misleading ring of once-comforting flames surrounding her like a sick wreath of victory. Frodo's dead blue eyes were gone from her face, replaced by two horrible, leering Eyes of Sauron, sneering at Sam as he fell.  
  
Sam screamed.  
  
And all too suddenly, his decent into darkness was rudely interrupted by a very solid stone floor. With a painful /thump!/ Sam landed with an impact that by all rights should have snapped his neck, yet the stunned hobbit only felt one thrill of pain before everything numbed again.  
  
Sam rose to his feet shakily, staring apprehensively around his prison. It was very small, and filled with a thick, tantalizing fog that obscured his vision and confused him. He pressed his hand into one of the four sadly doorless walls, and found it to be disappointingly solid and very cold. Sam frowned and shivered with exasperation and not a little fear. He had no idea where he was, how he'd gotten there, and only an extremely vague recollection of what had occurred before he'd landed in this frightening cell. But most importantly, he had NO idea how he was going to get /out/.  
  
A soft sound behind him made Sam whirl around, breathing hard and exploding with nerves. He wasn't alone in this prison after all.  
  
A muffled whimper seeped through the darkness, and Sam edged toward the sound, not sure if he should be frightened or relieved there was another here. But the fog swirled and puffed around him maddeningly, disorienting the confused hobbit and echoing the soft sobs of the walls.  
  
Finally, with a frustrated yell, Sam flung himself towards the sound, stumbling through the mists blindly, until suddenly he froze in his tracks, with two frightened and teary blue eyes staring at him only inches from his face.  
  
Sam yelped and fell over backwards, thoroughly startled. Yet even as he pushed himself up on his elbows, the fog flooded back, obscuring the figure crouched before him. Sam waited, panting for breath, lying prone on his back and staring into the fog where he'd last seen his fellow prisoner. Sam had the most dreadful premonition of who it would be.  
  
Sam's waiting was soon rewarded. Frodo's ghostly pale face and haunted sapphire orbs hesitantly materialized through the mist, gaping at Sam with horrified disbelief.  
  
"Sam?" he rasped finally, after several minutes of staring had flitted by. He edged closer, timidly extending a hand to haul Sam to his feet. Sam accepted the help, yet didn't say anything, too apprehensive of when this fate would turn on him to be trusting.  
  
The half-dead looking Frodo grasped Sam by the elbows, searching his face for any sign of scheming or betrayal. Finding none, he shook his head slowly, staring at Sam as though begging his friend to wake him up.  
  
"Sam, what are you doing here?" he whispered eventually, denial etched all over his gaunt face.  
  
Sam couldn't take the suspense anymore. "Which fate are you?" he asked shakily, bracing himself for the swirling color strands that would undoubtedly rush at him at any moment. "Please, hurry an' show me what horrors you will, but don't go confusin' me any more, I just want ta wake up."  
  
Frodo was looking very confused.  
  
"Fate?" he asked. "What do you mea-" His eyes suddenly went huge, his pupils contracting until the blue of his eyes was so intense Sam was unnerved.  
  
Frodo gaped at him, shaking his head and shivering. By this point, Sam wasn't sure he could get any more confused.  
  
"Shire?" Frodo whispered, his voice wavering out of control. All right, so Sam could get more confused. Frodo kept going. "Ringwraith? Rivendel?"  
  
Realization hit Sam like a ton of bricks, causing him to blink slowly several times. Frodo was quavering fit to die.  
  
"Gollum?" he choked. He didn't seem able to continue.  
  
"Barad-dur," Sam breathed, still deeply shocked. Frodo flinched.  
  
"Orcs," Sam finished, his breath suddenly running short. Frodo stumbled backward, already panting desperately.  
  
"Elbereth," Sam gasped, numbed with understanding. "you're. . . it was. . . you're not a fate...?"  
  
Frodo shook his head, staring into eternity. "No," he murmured.  
  
Sam felt his heart leap into his throat, gagging him as he choked, "But then you're..."  
  
Frodo dropped to his knees, hanging his head in shame. "I'm what's left of me," the beaten hobbit whispered, in a broken voice like the dead. "We're in the shadow world, Sam."  
  
Sam's brain was jammed. Memories, like sheets of ice, pelted into Sam's heart as he remembered everything Destiny's Muse had shown him, had told him, had broken his will with. He remembered her words, "Valar wishes you to see," and was filled with such a raging anger at the Ring's lies that a veil of blood curtained his eyes for several moments.  
  
When Sam could finally see again, Frodo was staring at him, glaring at what Sam's being here represented, while clenching and unclenching bloody fingers, raw from clawing at the walls of his prison. A fierce new determination lit his tired eyes, and a harshness Sam had never seen in Frodo before pulsed all around the resolved hobbit.  
  
"It won't have you," Frodo hissed, and with a soft scream of pain, he vanished, the fog swirling frantically to take his place.  
  
"WAIT!" Sam hollered, suddenly terrified of the dark place he was in. "Don't leave me here! Come back!" He stared around himself fearfully, scanning desperately for movement. A motion to his left caught his eye, and Sam spun around, swiping the fog from his path as he searched for the creator of the movement, praying it was Frodo.  
  
For a moment, Sam thought it was. A hobbit stepped out of the mists, staring at Sam much like Frodo had done, full of shock and disbelief. He had long, slightly greasy black hair, and pale blue eyes that were currently gazing at Sam with shame and immense sorrow.  
  
"Fat hobbit," he mumbled, his eyes screaming in apology. "Sam, I-I'm so sorry..."  
  
Sam felt his stomach drop so fast he swayed dizzily. No, it, it COULDN'T be...  
  
"Smeagol?" Sam rasped.  
  
A single tear dripped down the forever trapped hobbit's face as he faded hopelessly back into the fog.  
  
Sam sunk to his knees, fully terrified. He had never felt so completely alone.  
  
Sam never knew how long he lay there, wrapped in the mists of ringdreams and heartbreak, shivering with the thousands of understandings a hobbit never should have come to. All Sam knew was he was lost in the same dark place that Frodo feared above all others.  
  
Suddenly, Sam was furious.  
  
He thought of everything the ring had done to him, and the million things more it had done to his master, and all the hurt and bloodshed and death it had caused, and remembered all its sweet lies, and how it had spoke of the Valar, and such a wild rage coursed through Sam's veins he nearly burst. Hobbits were never made to hold so much anger.  
  
The mists turned red and condensed to blood, splashing and sloshing all around him, and Sam remembered the black blood that had beaded on his hand when he had tried to strike the Ring's horrible apparition. He quivered all over, a vein pulsing in his temple, and visions flashed before his eyes.  
  
He saw an ancient looking celebration, that might have been a birthday party, being enjoyed by hobbit-like creatures, with slightly larger ears and wilder characteristics. This image melted smoothly into that fateful eleventy-first birthday, and a chillingly familiar greasy-haired hobbit transformed freakishly into Frodo Baggins, an invisible band of gold entwining itself around the two, unbeknownst to both.  
  
He saw a creature with two horrible, scaly black bony wings jabbed harshly from its bleeding shoulder blades. Its long tangled red hair cascaded down its back, and its whole body glowed with an eternal fire, held in only barely by its ash and smoke skin. But when it suddenly jerked its head to stare at Sam, all the fire contained within the creature exploded and gleamed from behind its pupil-less eyes. Sam looked into its scared and mutilated face, and thought it might have been a girl once.  
  
He saw a beautiful, abandoned ruin, overrun with vines and ivy of many years. Strange shadows flitted all about the crumbling stone, cast by nothing but the whispers born by the wind. Sam recognized the Last Homely House.  
  
He saw Merry and Pippin running through a cornfield, arms overflowing with undoubtedly stolen vegetables, laughing as if nothing had ever been wrong, or would ever be wrong again. Two other innocent looking hobbits Sam didn't immediately recognize followed the first two, one slightly plump and the other's black curls bobbing around his face...  
  
Sam's eyes burst open in an explosion of tears he didn't even fully understand.  
  
One last and worst vision flashed before his open eyes, an apparition so horrible, the image made Sam's heart beat so hard it surely must have broken a rib.  
  
The Ring's horrible, black apparition had the present-time, dying Frodo caught in an iron grip by the throat, her talons digging deep into his pale flesh, streaks of blood pooling around the chain at his neck.  
  
She sneered victoriously at Sam, even as Frodo's unfocused eyes sought to make eye contact with him as well, and with one last laugh and choking moan from her captive, the Ring let Sam go, with a crack like a whip.  
  
The black and red image faded blearily back into the hazy land of Mordor, and Sam was once again lying on the barren, rocky ground, a poisonous breeze stinging his nose, Frodo's ice-cold head in his lap.  
  
Frodo's eyes were open, but Sam could hardly tell; they were as dull and gray as his exhausted eyelids. The sparkle of life was completely gone from them. His hand was clutched around the band of evil at his throat, and Sam knew, this was only Frodo's body. Frodo the hobbit was dying in the mists of ringdreams at the hands of that trinket, all so the Ring would release the last friend the world hadn't ripped away from him.  
  
Sam would have been surprised, if he had had the time to notice, that he wasn't crying. He didn't shed a single tear. A bitter resolve had filled him and would never leave, and whether that was for the worse or the better, no one will ever know, especially not Sam. The Ring has a way of stealing even the soul from a body without the brain ever knowing. And living without knowing is an awful price to pay.  
  
Sam's eyes focused like a hawk's on the chain around Frodo's neck, a half- formed plan pulsing in his heart, even as his brain screamed at him no. Voices from times past, now little more than echoing reverberations of a heart breaking, shivered on the air around him, little ghosts of a lost childhood.  
  
/"Don't trust your head, it's not the best part of you."/  
  
With the speed of wild desperateness, Sam's hand shot down, seized the Ring from Frodo's slavish embrace, and plunged it onto his finger. Frodo shrieked and bucked, his eyes focusing for one feral second, before he lay still. His eyelids drifted half-closed, as he floated between bodily death and the loss of his soul.  
  
Sam plummeted, with nauseating speed, through infinite swirling mists and shadows of a thousand things corrupted and claimed, his initial scream accompanied by the soft shattering of silver glass. Sam's innocence had died.  
  
And with a second, quickly numbed pain at impact, Sam was back in the shadow world, a beacon of gold gleaming on his hand.  
  
The Ring's Muse didn't seem to notice him at first, although It did gleam brighter for a moment as another lost life was added to It's growing collection. However, presently it seemed too preoccupied with the twitching hobbit writhing in its claws.  
  
Sam hesitated out of exhaustion more than anything else, breathing hard, the Ring still gleaming on his finger. Apparently, the physical gold band wasn't what killed its bearers. It was the apparition that came with it.  
  
Suddenly, with a blinding flash of light and the sound of great feathered wings beating, Frodo's spirit glowed a brilliant silver, broken only by his equally brilliant sapphire eyes, which burst open without warning. Frodo stopped twisting and struggling for breath, but not due to a relinquished grasp at his throat. In fact, he didn't breath at all. He just raised a brilliantly silver hand to his eyes and stared at it, transfixed by the deep cracks spreading steadily across it.  
  
The Ring laughed.  
  
The flapping sound of wings grew louder. In a second dizzying flash of light, the deep, empty black of destiny was broken for a moment, rips in the strange walls revealing the pulsing color strands of the could-be, past and lost realities beyond it. The gaping holes in reality encircled the struggling pair below, and Sam nervously found himself surrounded.  
  
Behind each gateway shimmered one of the Nine Fates, seven of which Sam recognized, each one freakishly calm and watching with detached composure the scene at the center of Destiny, the triumph of the Ring over Its bearer.  
  
Frodo, the present time Frodo, who was soon to become history, made an astonished, rasping sound, causing Sam to startle and whirl back to face him, any worry about the Fates instantly forgotten.  
  
Frodo's unnaturally blue eyes locked with his, staring out of his silvery face, and he whispered in a ghostly, echoing voice made unreal by its utterance without the exhale of air. His eyes were huge and suddenly full of recognition, as though he hadn't truly seen Sam in at least several weeks. The fog that had obscured and twisted his vision before was gone, and again he murmured the same soft question that Sam was becoming entirely too use to hearing.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
A light touch on his hand made Sam nearly burst an artery. The Gollum-like Frodo, eyes luminous in the silvery light of its original, squatted beside him, staring up at Sam while one emancipated finger unconsciously stroked the Ring. Sam stared back, and as though suddenly aware of its actions, the Fate jerked its hand away, and with stunned realization, turned to fix the Ring's Muse with an unnerving, hateful glare.  
  
Sam slowly and fearfully turned his head back to the colorful rips in the walls, to find, as he knew he would, each Fate staring at him in fearful remembrance. Each creepily different pair of eyes were wide, brimming with recognition of the hobbit who carried a million different ill-fated tales on his shoulders.  
  
The Fates snapped harshly from their ring-induced trances, and released from their dark nonexistence, they began drifting out of their each respective reality. With specter-like stares and soft fluid movements, they floated, one by one, over to Sam, the little mortal that had tossed everything they knew into chaos.  
  
The Gollum-like Frodo watched Sam with cat-eyed scrutiny as Maznak, with a gaping wound in his chest and a fearful glassiness about his eyes, slinked up to stand at Sam's left shoulder like a waiting wildcat. Sam stared at him with subdued fright, and nearly screamed when Maznak turned white, unseeing eyes on him. But the halfling-orc didn't snarl, nor glare, nor do anything threatening. Instead, Maznak's lips curled back over his pointed teeth, and he gave Sam the closest thing to a smile his mutilated face could offer. Sam felt his heart break as Maznak hefted up his overly-large, rusty sword one last time, and prepared to die a second death for him.  
  
Not existing in a Reality in which death prowled, Maznak could not die.  
  
Sam realized what he had done. He had given these May-be's, Memories and Could-Have-Been's hope that never existed. He had given them a tiny glimpse of life beyond what the Ring's treachery produced. He had turned them against their creator. And now they rallied behind him.  
  
Frodo from Rivendel, more memory than maybe, stepped forward next, staring with no small amount of fear at the two other fates at Sam's side, but with an equal amount of grim, yet unknowing resolve set behind his eyes. Sam gaped at this Fate, whom had at one time seemed so hardened, and who now appeared so innocent. The Fate gazed back at him, tears streaming down his face, as he pulled a freshly polished Sting from his belt, and turned to glare through his tears at the Ring.  
  
Sam glanced that way too, and saw the real, silver Frodo gaping at his past self in shock.  
  
And they all came, every last one, dragging up with them horrible memories and reopened wounds. The tortured Frodo dragged himself forward next, teetering as though on the very verge of death, the rusty chains still manacled to his broken wrists clanking along the ground. Maznak rasped horribly, but was the first to catch the Fate as it fell.  
  
Even the wraith Frodo stood behind Sam, ironically pulling a miniature, Morgul dagger from his black robes and hissing at his captor. Sam noticed this fate was careful to only use its right arm.  
  
The Fate Sam had just seen came next, so vague Sam had barely even seen him before. The ghost Fate wisped over to his side like a heat haze, rustling the clothes of the fates around him as if a gentle wind embraced his figure. The other Fates grew strangely still as the Ghost joined them.  
  
Next came two Fates Sam didn't recognize. They came forward hesitantly, obviously following the other Fates lead but not having the faintest idea why, having never met Sam. The first he instantly feared, although for what reason, he couldn't say. Its eyes were icy blue, emotionless, infinitely deep and cold. Yet one, single tear quivered in the corner of its right eye, one last tear that had never dropped. The air around it buzzed and pulsed with sick, twisted power and mad, uncontrollable insanity. And when its commanding, crushing personage caught the light right, Sam could just see lives upon lives worth of blood on its hands, pooled most thickly around the ring on its finger.  
  
Sam realized his heart hadn't beat in several seconds, and the real Ring encompassing his own finger seemed to twitch. The other Fates grew completely silent and watched this new Fate with just as much apprehension as Sam.  
  
The Could-be Dark Lord stood next to the littlest ringwraith, but didn't draw a weapon as the others had done. Sam gulped.  
  
The Ninth Fate, Sam saw, was still hesitating just outside its doorway, the only visible part of him being his grayish-blue eyes, reflecting the silver light in a thousand shimmering stars of heartbreak. It didn't come closer.  
  
Instead, the first Fate Sam had ever seen stepped forward, a projection of Frodo Sam had almost forgotten. As Sam felt his insides shred themselves, the lost Frodo of the Shire came up directly in front of him. Sam stared into this Fate's innocent, forget-me-not blue eyes, and asked himself why it had to be them.  
  
Shire Frodo cried softly and caught Sam in a fierce embrace, the very last before all things were lost. Then the lost Fate pulled away, sobbing, and Frodo Baggins of the Shire and Samwise Gamgee never made eye contact again.  
  
An eerie, unnatural voice broke the moment which had lasted an eternity. In reality, the Nine Fates had taken their places behind Sam in less than two seconds.  
  
"Sam, look out!"  
  
Sam whirled around to see two furious, burning eyes of Sauron bearing down on him in a wild craze of flame and blood. Sam screamed and leapt backward, closing his eyes and expecting white-hot daggers to pierce his heart any minute.  
  
But they never did. Sam cracked open his eyes to see Maznak tearing at the Apparition's neck with his teeth, the Ring rearing back in rage. With a cracking flash of heat and a snarling scream, Maznak was thrown back against an invisible, black wall, a sickening crunch echoing around the room as his hand was shattered.  
  
The crumbling, gleaming silver form of the real, dying Frodo teetered on his knees on the ground, staring at the scene around him in shock and wild fright, even as his hands cracked into shards.  
  
Sam bolted, just nearly dodging a wild dagger-clawed swipe as the Ring's Muse fell, lunging around to face him with blind ferocity. Barad-dur Frodo, his face completely white and eyes screaming in agony, lay convulsing on the ground behind It, the chain from one of his wrists wrapped around the Apparition's foot.  
  
As one would swat a fly, the Ring reached back one paw-like hand and slashed the Fate brutally across the face. Blackish red blood spurted, and the tormented Barad-dur Frodo died, his eyes forever locked in twin reflections of anguish.  
  
Opposite the battle, Maznak, who had just managed to wobble to his feet, shrieked and fell also, identical slashes ripped across his own face.  
  
The Ring kicked the corpse from Its foot, the emptiness of Its body slowly glowing with flames as its anger erupted. In the form of frantic wildfire, the Muse whipped across the distance between It and Sam, leaving a trail of ash in Its wake. Before Sam even realized It had him again, the Ring caught his face in two tongues of flame, quickly burning his skin bloody.  
  
Sam shrieked in unbearable pain and bucked, kicking the Apparition in the gut. That second was all that was needed; soon Sam, oblivious of his wounds, was dashing toward the shattering Frodo again, and the Tenth Nazgul had his dagger through the Muse's heart from behind, Rivendel Frodo's sword through Its heart from the front.  
  
Unfortunately, neither the Ring nor Sauron had ever had a heart worth its beating, and in a moment the Apparition had the Nazgul limp on the ground, the Fate's drained power seeping into the Rivendel Fate like poison. Rivendel Frodo writhed on the floor, clutching his left arm in mind-numbing pain, until in a sickening shower of blood, his shoulder burst like strained ice. Both Fates, bound together by cruel destiny, lay shivering and dying side by side, each suffering both their own and the other's pains.  
  
Sam was nearly at his master's side, coughing slightly on the silvery dust drifting upward through the air, the nauseating sounds of battle shrieking around him no more than a slightly unnerving whisper. Once he felt razors slice the back of his shirt, but Gollum Frodo had leapt clean over his head to collide with the Ring's Muse before It could drag him back. Sam never even looked back to see the wasted hobbit die.  
  
Sam was currently dropping to his knees, skidding the last few feet between him and the nearly disintegrated spirit. Frodo was hardly even recognizable, his glowing blue eyes the only part of his figure not obscured by horrible, jagged cracks.  
  
The Ring, crazed by rage and powered by insane ferocity, lunged before a word could leave Sam's mouth. It pounced like a horrible cat-like demon, digging It's claws into the silvery Frodo's shoulders as it bowled him over backwards. Frodo's shoulders splintered terribly, littering shards of silver glass everywhere.  
  
Sam froze as the Muse held what was left of his best friend from behind, one flaming dagger poised at his throat.  
  
"Don't move, halfling."  
  
Both hobbits didn't budge. Behind the Apparition, the three remaining Fates hesitated, edging slowly closer.  
  
"Fools," the Ring was hissing. "Fools, to even think you could concur me." It almost gently dug the dagger into Frodo's throat. He squeaked once, before falling silent.  
  
"There is no hope, neither for you nor all the rest of Middle Earth. This one is mine, and in his undoing I shall claim both your souls." The Ring laughed, a haunting, mesmerizing sound. Frodo's overbright eyes rolled. Sam sensed the Ring's poison hollowing his master out from the inside. Frodo was quavering, the gaping holes in his soul shattering more uncontrollably now.  
  
The Ring kept purring, the subduing sound of Its song softly lulling Frodo into an endless sleep. His head swayed on his shoulders, before falling forward on the knife, with a sickening slice.  
  
Sam rasped, but it was too late. The Ring's poison poured into his friend's heart, pushing his blood from his veins, so the silvery-red liquid oozed from his neck to splatter on the floor.  
  
"You see, /Sam/," the Ring whispered mockingly to the dumbfounded hobbit. "This is all that remains of your strong master. Soon, his Soul will snap under my power, and I will bend his Fate to my will." It grinned viciously, blood dripping from Its fangs. "I don't believe you've met the Eight Fate?"  
  
The Ring beckoned to the Fates hovering behind It, and as though drawn forward by some unfightable power, the Three drifted closer, only one not faltering slightly as it fruitlessly fought the Ring's call.  
  
The Ring's horrible sneering smile broadened, as the ominous Fate in the center of the three reached It first. Sam felt his heart pump freakishly rapidly, before seemingly contracting and skipping a beat.  
  
The could-be Lord of the Rings had watched the entire battle in detached confusion, the blue chips of ice that were his eyes snapping about the room brutally. Deep, deep within the Fate's semi-existent heart, the representation of that single tear which quivered in the Dark Lord's eye screamed and cried, begging his pleas to reach his brain. Begging the dominant life force to remember Samwise Gamgee.  
  
But now, with the added power of the Ring's soft, tempting song in his head, Frodo was muffled under a thousand cold layers of hate and corruption, to cry softly for his failure in the deepest recess of his heart. The Dark Lord stepped forward, power pulsing around him like heat waves, to stand beside the pure evil which had given him his dominance.  
  
The semi-conscious Frodo, drooping in the Ring's claws, moaned softly as the horrible Fate drew nearer. The single tear in the Lord of the Rings' eye quivered almost as if it would fall, as the smothered Frodo deep within shrieked anew, and the most terrible Fate hesitated, only seconds away from Being. The present-time Frodo was nearly lost.  
  
Sam would never know how close the world came to falling.  
  
Whether the oppressed and subdued Frodo would have broken free of his corrupted prison or not, will never be known. Shire Frodo, with eyes as wide as saucers, slowly but deliberately wrapped his fingers around the Dark Lord's throat, and watched in stunned terror as he strangled the life from the other Fate's chest.  
  
As the may-be Lord of the Ring's dropped dead, and Frodo of the Shire stumbled back, the Ghost Fate of Mordor smiled. The Seventh Fate had shimmered, no more real than a hazy moorage, throughout the entire shift in Destiny, powerless to change anything and no longer trying. He sighed softly, tilting his head back, and in the next moment, he was gone, a thin wisp of milky smoke wafting upward.  
  
The Ring screamed. It was a sound like all nine Nazgul shrieking their malice at once, a horrible, grating wail that every creature that breathed felt, in that moment, deep in their heart. It was a scream of wild rage and disappointment, a cry that tore into Sam's ears and ripped right down to his heart, the fearful memory of its utterance forever leaving its mark on Sam's soul. Suddenly, the little hobbit knew what fear was made of.  
  
Frodo Baggins, the real, exhausted, present-time Frodo Baggins, was staring at Sam with a million and one emotions teeming within his unnaturally bright eyes. The Ring, in its rage, had thrown Frodo to the ground, and now he was just barely supporting himself on all fours. Sam, numbed by the Ring's continuous scream, stared blearily back, an icy dread freezing his blood even as he fought to understand.  
  
In the same airy, supernatural voice, Frodo whispered, "I'm sorry Sam, for what I'll do." Pearly, silver tears that Mordor could never drain poured from his eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't save us both." And with that, the soul of Frodo Baggins exploded in a thousand sharp, tiny shards, before his best friend's eyes. The fragments of who Frodo had been ricocheted all about Destiny like quick, silver birds, until Sam could see nothing but everything he'd lost.  
  
The Ring's scream reached a crescendo and stopped as suddenly as it had begun, the bitter silence hurting Sam's ears as much as the shriek had done. The Apparition crouched, bristling, on all fours, staring at him with brutal, animalistic eyes, blood dripping in rivulets from countless cuts etched into Its skin, sliced there by the shards of Frodo's soul. Sam noticed, but couldn't care less, that he hadn't even been scratched. Frodo was dead. He had failed his master, and even more importantly, his best friend. That was all that mattered. The Ring was right. There was no hope.  
  
Shire Frodo was sprawled on the ground, gasping for air and shivering uncontrollably. He raised his eyes one final time to whisper goodbye, but Sam never looked his way. Frodo of the Shire died thinking Sam had forgotten him. Killing another had broken his innocence. Shire Frodo, already lost to the world, was now lost to Destiny.  
  
The Ring, still in a fit of murderous rage at the loss of its Fate, rounded on Sam, and now without a single Fate to protect him, nor the will to fight, Sam allowed it to pin him to the ground.  
  
"I may have lost the other one," it hissed wildly in his ear. "But I have still your broken will. You, Samwise Gamgee, will break, just as your master before you, and /you/ will lead the world to ruin!"  
  
And in a second no longer than a missed beat in time, Sam saw, shimmering into could-be reality, another Fate, but this one with worn brown eyes and filthy blonde hair, tears of blood oozing from his eyes.  
  
Sam wondered what dreams had haunted Frodo's sleep.  
  
The Ring brandished another flaming dagger at the hobbit's throat. "Let us start by murdering the bodily remains of your dear friend, shall we?"  
  
Sam's eyes went huge.  
  
So did the Apparition's. After a moment of delayed shock, it shrieked again, but this time in pain. Even as Sam's hands flew upward to clasp his ears, he caught sight of a small, dark figure stumbling backward, a bloodied shard of Frodo's soul clasped tightly in one shaking hand.  
  
The Ring tore around, blood spurting from its chest, to rip apart Its attacker from the inside out. In one mind-boggling, spinning swipe, It slashed the figure across the neck. Weakened, the being staggered, swaying into a shaft of light cast by one of the rips in Destiny.  
  
Sam felt his jaw drop, and his heart leap into his lungs. The Ninth Fate had come forward at last.  
  
The Ring crouched, baring saber fangs, Its merciless Eyes of Sauron gleaming, before springing into the air and crashing into the shuddering Fate with bloodthirsty vengeance.  
  
Frodo stabbed a saber of his lost soul through the Ring's neck.  
  
And with one bellow of pure rage and despair, that would ring in Sam's ears until his dying day, the Ring's Apparition vanished, with a crack like snapped bones.  
  
Then there was silence.  
  
Sam lay, comatose, for an eternity or a second. He never knew which. But there was a space in time, if such a concept even exists in Destiny, in which Sam didn't move, didn't think, didn't breath. Or at least, the stunned hobbit had absolutely no memory of doing so afterward.  
  
Floating between Being and Nonexistence can be disorienting.  
  
Sam was watching a quivering reflection of light dance dreamily across a black nothingness, probably cast there by the pulsing rips in reality. Slowly, he became aware of a soft touch on his shoulder, causing him to blink numbly and role over onto his back.  
  
The Ninth Fate was kneeling beside him, staring at him with a mixture of fright, concern, and haunting confusion swirling into a blank neutral behind his grayish blue eyes. The Could-be Frodo didn't say anything, just watched him slightly blankly.  
  
As Sam's mind slowly began to work again, he noticed the May-be was very pale, and haunted looking. His eyes were bitter, subdued, despairing, and ever so vaguely, Sam could see the silvery tears pouring down the Fate's face, tributes to sorrow only visible in Destiny. In reality, Mordor had drained those tears long ago.  
  
Sam's brain was processing faster now. He noticed many partly healed wounds scarring the Fate's pale skin, jagged reminders of his hardships that would never grant him peaceful forget. For a moment, Sam could have sworn he heard seagulls calling and the soft lullaby of the tides, brought in by the wind that caressed the Fate's dark hair. But the moment Sam tried to listen closer, the strange mirage was gone.  
  
The Ninth Fate moved, Frodo's eyes jerking from his trance. Only then did Sam notice the Fate's hand.  
  
The triumphing shard of silver glass gleaming between Frodo's fingers, casting a silvery glow all about the Fate. In the pearly surface shimmered dull reflections of the other eight Fates, wavering in and out of focus. The silver light of the shard was fading, and the Fate's outline was growing more solid, more real. The bit of glass, now almost clear but for the reflections swimming on its surface, seemed to fade and melt, all at once, until all that was remaining in its place was a bleeding, four fingered hand.  
  
Sam realized he was breathing very fast. The Fate blinked, his eyes fixed on Sam, with a clear focus Sam only now realized the other Fate's had lacked.  
  
Frodo extended his horribly scarred hand, and hauled Sam to his feet, an action so ordinary Sam shivered. The Fate's blood gleamed on his hand like melted rubies.  
  
"Thank you," Frodo whispered softly.  
  
And the Ninth Fate drifted resignedly into the future, while a semi- conscious Sam floated slowly back to the present.  
  
When Sam awoke, it was with Frodo's hand clasped in his own, and the Ring lying quietly on the ground between them.  
  
SO, how confused are you now? Don't worry, you're sorta supposed to be. Like, if you weren't, I'd get kinda worried you had like mind reading powers. Geez, reading my mind, that would give you a headache. shudder Anyway, one more chap after this, and nice pretty EXPLANATION chap. No, there actually is an ounce of reason behind all this! [insert unbelieving gasps]  
  
I just really wanted to say THANK YOU to all the people who stuck with me through this. This was my first real shot at serious writing, and all your support has meant so much to me I won't even go into or I'd be sitting here babbling your praise all night! It's your reviews that keep me going (how many times have we heard that?) and I really appreciate all your help. YOU GUYS ROCK SO HARD! tear THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EVERYTHNG!  
  
Rabidsamfan: hee hee, I am a confusing one. :D That idea could have been one long AU huh? Frodo would have been dead just from loss of blood by the end of that one. Frodo!Muse brandishes sniper Heh... oh, and as for where the ring went, I'll probably say next chap. Thank you so much! shrrom!  
  
Laurajslr: I LOVE to ramble! Valar, have you ever SEEN one of my reviews? I'm lucky I'm not in a physco ward! random voice in background screams, "YOU ARE YOU MENTAL CASE!" Woah, I was like doing a wild jig of glee after that review. Thank you sooo much! shroomies!  
  
ShireElf: I AM SOO SORRY! I just felt so guilty! So I posted the second I finished. Lord, my grammar is gonna be bad. cringe BUT THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HELP! This chap is just gonna have to deal with being the stinky non- ShireElf-proofread one. home depot of SHROOMS!!  
  
Calenor: sobs STOP! It's too awful! Poor Aragorn! blows nose Isn't talking with random characters in reviews fun though? Good stuff! Wow, I made people cry! tissues for all Thank you to Mordor and back I love you! well, not like that, but here's a Niagara falls of shrooms!  
  
Skye12: sniff the SECOND I have time to review YOU WILL BE TWITCHING ON THE GROUND FROM HOW LONG IT'S GONNA BE! I am so sorry! You deserve like all the reviews in the world! we are not worthy, we are not worthy!  
  
Sami: blushes This fic isn't that good. Its just a whole lotta insanity and Frodo torture. But thank you SOO much for the review, yours is the one I kept reading to make myself keep going! hug and shrooms!  
  
Linriel: hands box of tissues and SHROOMS I think your happier NOT knowing how many things I broke while frolicking about after your review. I can't believe I'm making people cry! :D Lol, guys never understand ANY THING except food and things like that. THANK YOU SOO MUCH FOR PRETTY REVIEW! stroke stroke... pretty review!  
  
Evil Vampire Lady: falls over laughing you don't know HOW HARD you had me laughing. "I'm begenning to think Sam is in a coma. I mean he has been dreamin for two whole chapters." rolls around laughing I was like in stitches for days! tear Yea, I dunno why I gave the Muse Frodo's eyes, I guess just cause his eyes ARE the coolest ever. tosses Frodo another shroom. He's liking the attention Aw, the dreaded Frodo with Chainsaw scenario. Never good. displays duck tape around middle I did self surgery! Lol, thank you SOO MUCH for the reviewie! shrooms!  
  
Elijahs-gurl: :D glad you like it! Heh heh, I didn't exactly update soon, but I promise I'll get better! halo Thank you!! shroomies!  
  
Iorhael: Heh, my reviews can be searches for right word UNIQUE! Lol, actually, a ton of peeps got real annoyed by them, so I'm trying to break the habit gestures at gagged Frodo Pip Merry and Sam muses THANK YOU SO MUCH THO! As soon as I can find your story you disappeared off my author alerts list! Damnable fanfic! grumble you will have so many reviews you'll beg for sanity! MUAW HA HA! ahem Cause your story rocks beyond measure. glares at fanfic.net Stupid site grumble THANK YOU SOO MUCH YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW ESTATIC I WAS WHEN YOU REVIEWED! Like, a site-famous author reviewing for ME! squeezed Frodo until his eyes bulge I was like literally bouncing off the walls! THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH! shrooms shrooms shrooms!  
  
LemonHobbit: THANK! YOU! SO! MUCH! I loved your review! Heh heh, I hardly ever made any sense. I'll try to clear everything up next chap. Hope I wasn't too confusing this chapter... heh heh :-S 


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